What’s fun about writing? It’s such a chore. Yet I’m fascinated by communication. But I hate Languages. Or maybe I’m just mad because I’m not fluent in any language including my native one. Talk about a chore. Fuck writing, I can barely talk. At least with writing I can usually take my time and consult a thesaurus or have a piece of software fix my spelling errors. When you are talking the results are instant. If you know how to formulate your thoughts into words then you’ll be O.K. If you don’t know how to formulate your thoughts into words then it’s going to be immediately recognized by anybody with half a brain. I’m a simpleton.

I am not talking about a person’s ability to have profound thoughts. I am talking about a person’s ability to accurately transform their thoughts into some form of effective communication so that some other motherfucker knows exactly what you are thinking. The thought could be a desire, a plan, a story, a worry, a memory, a delusion, it doesn’t matter, from the simplest, most mundane thought to the most complicated, abstract thought, from the thought of a good shit in the morning to the thought of what gravity is. It does not matter what the thought is as long as you can properly convey it to another individual. If you are the simplest person to have ever stepped on this planet and you can do that, then you can conquer the world. They are velvet tongued.

I’m amazed by how limiting language is. I’m frustrated by how complicated it is. I love to blurt out fragment sentences and expect you to know what I’m thinking. I hate trying to make sense out of your sentences. I love the history of languages. I hate using languages. I love words and their origins. I hate putting words together and utilizing them. I love mumbling. I hate fumbling. I love the concept. I hate the reality. I love the reality. I hate the concept. I love the duality. I hate the duality. I love the velvet tongued simpleton. I hate the velvet tongued simpleton.