Impulsive Expressive Combustive
Or whatever this is supposed to be. Mine is filled with all kinds of mixed feelings, an entire bag of mixed nuts: tangy, sweet, sour and everything in between; all bursts of explosives made of trinitrotoluene, hexogen and octogens - these high octane detonations of yet inevitable knocking and turbulence. Molecular dephosphyrilations and erratic electrons bouncing about in the trillions of cells inside with the power of a few thousand Joules, erratic I am as a person of emotion and cognition.
As much as it's true that some thoughts are better off unpublished, that doesn’t stop me from wanting to share what I think and have to say. I dont’t think it should matter at the end of the day because I don’t think anyone else will really bother to read whatver slop of words I write, and in whatever I write I think it’s about time I let go of perfection and restraint, constraint and complexity, elegance and grace, and all that is beautiful and aesthetically pleasant to see.
Uncited, impulsive, polarized, reactionary writings with inelegant, inconcise, incomplete and scanty strings of words to form a half-baked voice from the depths of whatever dark pit lies in the heart. Anyone who'd rummage through all this is either super open and compassionate about whatever they come across or a voyeuristic freak who wants peek through my bathroom window and dissect whatever piece of my mind they can grab.
The fact that this is to be publicized means that I will have to juggle between performativism and sincerity. If I write like this, I will be at constant crisis of whether I should keep up the act, or whether it is an act at all, or whether people are intrigued or disgusted, or everything in between. With that, this will be a practice of self integrity or another performance bound to crash and burn. Who knows, I don’t know.