Old Thoughts

I remember that when I was younger, I used to wonder how some people wrote so well. How they managed to make these wonders. How they wrote so many paragraphs it became a book!

I begin to understand this by trying to go through it myself. As if I have stepped in the path and begun to see how it looks like. It's quite a lot similar to other skills, playing the Piano or Drawing for instance. I wondered how people could move their hands or fingers so magically, until I tried it by myself. I come to understanding, slowly. And it is valuable.

Style

It happens to me occasionally to ask myself: do I have a personal style in writing?

The obvious answer is, "well everyone has their unique style in writing..." but that really isn't what I mean. Of course everyone has their unique style, but just how distinguished is that style? How much does it glow among the millions and millions of these "unique" styles?

It's as if some of these unique styles have a far higher affinity to be liked (or disliked!) by people. This is what i call the distinctiveness. Something truly different from the most. Something that "touches hearts". Something that makes it remarkable. Beauty, in a sense.

Can I judge my own distinctiveness? Hard to say. The reason why I appreciate praise and criticism.

One could probably even say that the brilliance of a writer is the same as the distinctiveness of their style. It's themselves which they reflect in their writings, and how much they manage to distinguish themselves in the written world is how much they are distinguished as a writer.

So, just how distinguish am I? Time will tell.

!

Forgot what i wanted to write!

Appear

Why won't you appear, out of thin air? Why wouldn't I close my eyes one moment, and the next see you there? Why would it be so drought out?

I need to breathe...

Breathe life through my nostrils. Feel it flow through my veins and it not cease, ever flow... fly...

The Passion

This is rather not a statement as it normally has to be, but a question, if I actually have a passion for writing.

I'm not quite sure how i ought to look at it. A hobby? Something I'm (not) supposed to be good at? Something I occasionally do to get away? To impress? Not sure at all... A social skill, maybe? Not a bit sure.

Should I ever be serious about it? I have never been. But I sometimes do tend to think that I must be. After all, my future career is most probably one that demands a good writing skill. But do I improve it solely for that reason? That I might need it? There seems to be something wrong with that one deep in my mind.

It seems to me that, as cliche as it may seem, writing indeed gives one a chance to somehow empty themselves. I hypothesize that is because ideas are genuine replicators, so they try to change one's behavior in a way that facilitates their replication. Why not talk? It's lifespan is too short, it is very unreliable as a means of replication several times without validation, it mutates wildly: just the way rumors tend to change drastically while spreading.

That's most probably why man invented writing. Much more reliable over a longer time span, and far less subject to constant mutation.

So, what about me? What role has writing played in my life? Well, I can say that at times I have written with the purpose of immortalizing my thoughts, and sometimes... I chose to spend my time writing because I felt I wanted to. Most probably what I have been describing through the preceding paragraphs. The self-generated tendency of the written word to bring itself into existence.

So, one possibly could say that I, too, have a passion for writing. And the more I put thought into it, the more I realize how beneficial this passion can be, and how fruitful it would be if I somehow made myself more passionate... or wait. Is it that tendency that's making me write these now? With little doubt, it has a part in this.

The questions then cross my mind-how good am I at writing? How good can I become? How much effort shall I put? And above all, how much English, how much my mother tongue, Persian? There are numerous arguments. Numerous debates to be held within my mindspace, and numerous answers to be given. What seems obvious at this very moment is, it is a path I have taken, and a path I shall walk; anxious to see where it takes me, and eager to know what it holds. To written word!

wounds

Wounds. you take wounds. some are deep, some are not. you may not even notice them being there, or are being taken. you only come to realize they exist when they get you a serious infection, or when there are too many of them and the collective pain brings you down. the deep ones are painful right from the beginning. deep and large...

Despite the differences, there is one common trait all wounds share: they might be healed, but their scar always remains. but first they must be healed, and no one is willing to heal them for you.

Stop being childishly dependent on people, even those that care for you, because they are not responsible for your wounds. and... they have those of their own. people cant bother to treat each other. so be strong and cover them until they heal. don't go around showing them to people, for people don't like to see those, and instead of any help they will avoid you.

But do not hide your scars, for you will get so many of them during your lifetime. so if you try to hide them, you are in fact hiding your very self. to show them, on the other hand, is strength.

"piece of advice to myself"

the bad things about me

sometimes i feel overwhelmed. overwhelmed by the numerous negative characteristics that i have. at these times i feel im being suffocated. being blamed by myslef. damn.

at these times i may come to think of these negative traits as always with me. but then if im lucky, i will realize im being even more stupid. most of these can be lost, as a kid loses his childish traits. that makes me feel relieved and alive. quite analogous to the kid growing up. im growing up.

genius set loose!

I feel i want to set the cruel cold genius inside me loose, so he could wildly roam the space, attack brains, and make and ruin ideas. i want power.

wow!

its like i've been brought back to life. its this new friend of mine, who is so fucking amazing. she sort of stormed my mind and, perhaps indeliberately, made me realize what a fucking amazing person i was. i just didn't grow tired of talking to her!

i just want to break free of the few remaining chains of social conventions bound to my feet and my hands, start a new life and become what is best to become. i want to evolve, to adapt; and at the same time not be a slave of society. i want to be even more free than i've ever been, to see beyond the horizons man defines. i want to imagine and make my own world. i want to break free.

im as brilliant as i could be, as remarkable... and damn! i dont want to give ANY fuck anymore!!

p.s: Radical would be the most proper word for someone like me.

خب لا اقل...

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