Unhinged

Simplicity is in your mind. Keep my love from inside.

I write for a reason. I just don’t know the reason. It’s a simple reason, I know it is. It’s just beyond me. I don’t care much for the reason. Honestly, this makes no sense. I don’t  even know what I’m getting at here. I’m just kind of digging right now. Writing can easily discourage a man. Discouraging to a point where a man hates the ground that he stands on. He hates it so much, but it’s so much a part of him that he can’t easily escape it. For, a man cannot fly; so he must dig down, it’s the only way. He must pick up his spade and dig, for it provides the only remedy of the moment.

And it’s not even like I was discouraged, or I hated the ground that I stood on. Sometimes I do. I simply dug because it was best. I dug not like a miner or a construction man. I dug like a child in a sandbox. I am a fool. Me, only pushing sand around on the surface, thinking it was really something. And it was. But I’m no experienced worker-man. I think I should be. Maybe.

There are sometimes when I call out when I’m writing. I don’t remember the first time that I did this, but I have done it ever since. Sometimes I’m afraid to say things, but I think sometimes it’s for the better. Contrary to belief, I think that filter of fear gives me strength. It makes me think more. It strains the mediocre, forces out something close to the best. Calling out is simple, but leads to some nice material. If I am being clear.

It’s not even the intensity that makes the filtered writing enjoyable. It is not the pinpoint descriptions, or hitting of points. What makes filtered writing enjoyable to me is the different angle that one must hit, and maneuver completely across. It gives a different viewpoint. One that is different. One that is collective. One that is a little bit more beautiful. True feelings aren’t expressed completely clearly, but in a way they are. Strangely enough, in every way they are; unless there are barriers that I cannot see.

At this very moment, I am writing. I am also writing with a filter. A filter that I hope is helpful. A filter that I hope will be enjoyable, a filter that restrains me to a point that I would think is bliss. Well, this is my hope. I know of one filter though, on a strand of existence bordering concrete. It is filtering me right now, and only I know what it is. I will not elaborate on it anymore.

Does it pay to write without a filter? I would say absolutely. I feel like it is the standard. It is the standard to break free of the standard. And the world of confusion breaks off the hinges. It is the world which we write about. It is the world in which our perceptions and feelings tangle with nature. It is the world that gives us filters, and the opportunities to make our own. It is so simply itself, and has always been itself. It is unchanging and ungraspable. And this is another reason why I started to write. I started because I love this world. I started because I love nature. I started because I love people in this world. I started because I love what people do in this world. I started because I love angles. I started because I love possibilities.

But in due time, I will discover that I didn’t start for any of these things. I will discover a new reason. And I will inevitably write about new things. Filtered or unfiltered. Love them or hate them. My identity will be there, and other’s identities will be there. Out there. In that world. The world that is off its hinges. I will still be there. Sometimes I will hate the ground I stand on. I will be digging for an escape. Or maybe I will just be digging for words; digging for somebody to hear the sound of my spade chinking the earth. The sound created from my biceps, from my heart, from my brain. Calling out, I guess. That’s why I started. That’s why I will keep going. A writer’s beginning, middle, and end; they all live, unhinged.

Author's Note

Simplicity is in your mind. Keep my love from inside.