<Full disclosure: I keep a google doc called "Just Write". Unfortunately, that's the only rule. Here's some stuff I dug up from its depths (unedited):>
Gods, what’s wrong with us? Why are we all sitting here in scarves of gold and eyes of blue. Asif i could stand to stand. As if the world was not just letters and and rocks and bits of errors piled up into animals. Could you leave me alone for a bit? Honestly, what am I supposed to do when you all won't sit still you're all just turning in and outside in and stop turning in work you haven’t finished, stop turning at all. Where does the time go? I thought I was here but now I'm in last february and shooting into the future geos STOP IT. Am I schizo? Am I some word that won’t offend, that won’t make you push your lips into the edges of your fleshy face and then walk far far away. Why can’t you just leave a mental register of my faults on your face where I can be certain of them? I know, I know because you never would be loved if they saw your disgust for each and everything , the thoughts you tuck far away.I wish I could write the world through glass bottles, stretched and stained and glowing with leftover light.
Porpoises are not really here. I mean, they are here of course. But in the grand scheme of things it’s a dolphin world. Blue whales and bottlenoses, they rule the record books. Deservingly so of course. But being a bit dumber shouldn’t make you white-outed by the red pens of our minds . So please just shut up an
What is it with holiday traditions? We hack away at the sturdiest, fullest individuals and drag their carcasses back to our houses, proping them upright and splashing their corpses with water to try and revive what is already dead. We pluck gourds from the earth to scrape out their innards and carve their flesh into grotesque smiles. We steal the eggs of fowl and scatter them in places where they may never be found, only rot. WHy? Not liogic, not nymore. Nostalgia? I suppose, if gyou can be nostalgic for things you’ve never lived throuygh, if the reasons stretch past you and your parents and your people I really have to pee! Please please please let me pee. Right here, right now. STOP BLADDER! I will consume more sodium if it allows me to dry up your depths AGHHHHHHHHH! What will it take you idiot. 3.141592653589793238462643383279 and that’s all I know but someday— no wait what am i saying Ill never biother learbning any more and I still have to peee and my neck i si n a really uncpmfortable position and this scarf is actually itchy when it is pressed up against my face when will it end my
And fish? Why can’t we understand them? WHat is witht hteir eyes bulging from their heads and never closing, their aimless drifting way of moving, their gaping tranlucent lips straining for energy out of their reach. Gills heaving, decoration we plant and water and watch for pretty scales shinings. AHHHHHHHHHHHH stupid sish nget out get out what are you doing here in a house full of air in a den full of predators, in a cold mountain range? DIE YOU IDIOT, you would even live in the lake if we threw you in there.
the pictures in the cookbook i got for christmas (pardon the christ) read something like perfection, but the thing is is that i have the feeling it’d be easy to be her if I were already there
i was writing this poem in the gap between seeing 1:51am. and not feeling it and i realized that all the words that dribbled out like slow pen loops in a math textbook had melted with my glassesless gaze, and i’m trying to remember them and trying to see if they only fit back there
and i can’t remember how to be honest, i’m editing my words one way and then back again and i can’t tell if i it’s whatever i think or what i think, minus the crap, but then again how the hell do you tell
i can’t seem to tell anything anymore, stories or differences what’ll make me liked
you you guys you all y’all youse
i keep finding chocolate in the dish that my mom keeps next to her desk and in the toe of her stocking and even though i drove my toothbrush to its last buzzing breaths there’s still sour in the periphery of my tongue, and i bet i’ll be able to scrape the white right into the curl of my fingernail
so i was closing my eyes trying to write something pretty but i think i accidently set my autopilot to this game i’ve been playing, me as a snake eating pixels i’d stop but it’s just as mesmerizing in the almost dream space
i keep realizing little sensations, like the fact that i’m still wearing a bra and the gray shirt that used to be a tunic from old navy’s (and now it’s a shirt and it’s imprinted on me(and i like parentheses(and i switched the second parenthesis to face the normal way and then back to see if that made me anymore creative and kept going and then gave up the thought because i could walk that way forever and i need to figure out how to clip my loose ends
i googled some cool people whom i knew (i better be using whom right or i’m being something that someone won’t like), or who i’ve seen around and can tell that they’re sashaying right towards goodness, just to see if the internet knew them yet
and i looked at their instagram pictures which apparently you can see without an account and i tried to watch poetry readings but my video isn’t working
and i just went to pee and i realized that this is going to turn into a summary real soon, and that you won’t care
today i read someone’s blog from when they were younger than me, and looked up art and writing award winners, and i tried to write out my realization that comparing won’t always put me on top, but it was in notebook and really too slow to say anything
i’d edit this for you but, remember that i don't know how unless it’s grammar and in this i’m trying to not care about grammar, or mostly just not think about
i saw a movie around my salty tongue and it was interesting i think
i want to be a person whose opinions just bubble up, reasons still attached
I’m not liking how ‘i want’ sounds in here
I really should go to sleep
<Yes, there's some good stuff in the document also, but it's buried in nonsense and journal entries and midnight "ideas" that turn out to not make sense. So... conclusion? Just keep writing? Don't worry about the crap stuff you produce? Use the crap stuff you produce for inspiration? hey look at my stuff isn't it funny or wait maybe it's just dumb?
I don't know. Whatever. I guess just, you don't always have to take your writing so seriously. It can be fun too.>