Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

Intellectual Vomit, Jan 5 '12 edition

Heaving... it's like heaving. I think? Or like panting. I'm not sure. The brain won't slow down. It's like trying to run by a mirror to see what you look like when you're running, it doesn't really work. You need a camera. I don't have a camera for my thoughts, I only have talking or writing but I can only say or type one word - one letter/sound at a time.

I like thinking too much and it gets in the way of acting. Of just doing shit. And also the on-stage, at-the-mic kind of acting too. But I like staging and that gets in my way because it's part of thinking - when I get caught up in how the information is going to leave me and get into the world beyond me, hopefully to be picked up by you in the way it was originally intended. I get so attached to that idea that I get really irritated with any possibility that it won't work exactly right. But what choice do I have? I can't keep this shit to myself. I can't stand the idea of not telling anyone what's in my head, no matter what a mess it is. I'm writing this because it's faster than writing the short story, the flash fiction that probably explains what I mean better.

Heaving... like throwing up. Like creating a big puddle of half digested information, mushed and melded together by intellectual misfire so you can only guess the carrots from the meat by the color and that's the best I've got. Because I can't get the information down fast enough before something new and enticing shows up and I can't process it the way it's supposed to happen and I can't just tell you about a new recipe I've discovered, I've got to give you a visual aid.

Well, that was gross.

I have to go. But I can't stop thinking. Ugh. I just want one thing to think at a time. I just want to focus. I keep thinking about this Unleashed Mind business and thinking "would a leash be so bad?" Just looking up the article again, though, brought my across all kinds of other entries on Google for creativity + schizotypy and it's freaking me out a little. It makes me wonder about the noises late at night when I'm super exhausted and my brain says there are people talking in another room and I know, I am absolute solidly sure no one is awake and talking, it's just the noise of the heater pushing air through the vents and my exhausted brain trying to turn it into a conversation. It makes me think about all the other random crap that goes on in the brain, and that is a lot of random crap. Trying to make data into narrative, trying to build relationships and invent causes and predict effects. And it's all beautiful, really. I mean, I do love this stuff like mad. (Maybe that's the problem.) But I've got to get moving. And that's too much to think about, can't I narrow the scope a little to just one thing to think about? One thing to say at time? Just one idea?

No. I've been working on reading this interview with Philip K Dick for several weeks now. I can only go a few sentences at a time because they set off explosions in my head of beautiful new possibilities and every single one is a rollercoaster. And forgive me for returning yet again to the idea of puking, but I swear it's like saying on a rollercoaster for too long, everything I need to digest gets upset and can't handle any more. I want to marvel at Dick's genius but I also can't help but have a go at his thoughts and also my own metathoughts on what makes up his genius and also my own structural thoughts of how I recognize a genius and not just figure I'm thinking highly of myself or else taking validation from friends who likewise thing he was a genius and all in all, my GOD the universe of wonderment in his head!

I do have to get going. I have somewhere to be and there is a lot of traffic between here and there. I don't want to lose the thoughts while I talk to myself while I'm driving and then I don't remember any more because I hate when all I can remember is that I had a good idea but I can't remember what the idea was. I've had enough of that for my whole life.

My fingers stopped for a minute there. I'm sure there's more to say but the previous was almost ten minutes of non stop typing. I gotta go.

Just... sometimes... It feels like I want to brain myself to make all the ideas shut the fuck up.


The Anti-Social Butterfly

Latest Month

March 2016


Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Tiffany Chow