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The mind is a wonderful weapon of self-destruction. Seemingly the point of origin of our personality, what it really specializes in is questioning this creation. It’s not the machinations of the mind that makes things real, but the expression of your mind outwards. When I’m sad in my own brain, it feels almost unreal. When I pronounce my sadness to somebody else, it gains an indelible weight of reality. My mind forces itself upon me. It invades my thoughts with its own machinations. The only way to fight it off is to freeze my thoughts. Freeze them in words. Stop the mind from taking them for a spin, and putting them into ink. So to speak, anyway, I lost my fountain pen.

What I’m trying to say is, that,

What I’m trying to say is

What im trying to say

what im trying

im trying

to say

that

i

am