Quietly, Quietly Write in Freedom

“Quietly, quietly. Please walk quietly.

…

Ah, fuck it. Stomp around, bounce around, do what you want. It’s just dirt you’re stepping on anyway.”

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The paradox of humanity: what we will do versus what we won’t do. I will do what we will do.

To accept is to part with your free will. Acceptance, though, is the first step in a series of mentally destructive steps to gain your free will. Understanding that “will” is a verb and not a noun is the second step of acceptance.

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Notice the want as opposed to the will. It should have been will. As humanity insists on making both “will” and “want” nouns instead of their eternal status as verbs, the concept is greatly confused. Language is conceptual; let us not confuse the concept with interpretation.

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This is called free-writing: I’ll write what I will and edit when I want to.

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Microsoft Word just made an accurate grammar correction. Weird.

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Computers- the ultimate concept-machine. Something that reads in numbers can’t truly confuse meaning, unless the original meaning was false. Now imagine man as a machine and replace something with man.

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Language is interpretation. LANGUAGE IS INTERPRETATION. If we could communicate without language, we’d be much better off. There would be no literature, just storytelling. And yes, my thoughtful reader, storytelling is accomplished with words. But there is a much deeper meaning in stories that makes you forget that you are, in fact, reading words. Unmanipulative, non-suggesting words. Words that make you get lost in the story. There is true magic in that; storytelling invokes a spirit of listening that is absent from words but yet dependent on words because of humanity. Good literature weaved with good storytelling manipulates images to suggest meanings. Good literature by itself is terrible; it’s the ambiguition of words to suggest any and all possible meanings. It’s an old man’s trick and not an old man’s spirit. In any good story, a part of the teller’s spirit remains and resides in the story itself.

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And now, excuse me, as I roll gently over with nicotine:

Speaker: “Hey van Gogh, what you doin’ under there?”
Vincent: “Vut, I do not vunderstand.”
Speaker:“…

         Ah, fuck it.”