TWISTED LOGIC (Writing with a fucking pen)

So I haven't actually written shit in a while. I'm always typing and shit is so easy to edit when you're typing. I want to see cancellations, scratches, and lines accross words. It's so fucking exciting.

I always do this thing where I read all the shit that I've written (typed). It's usually when I'm depressed; sometimes when I'm bored. Everytime I read my writing (typing), I swear I can't remember how I wrote those things. How I felt when I wrote them, why I put down certain ideas, why I wrote certain things, and sometimes even, when I wrote them.

I can't feel the moment when I wrote those things. It's like they just dropped from the sky. It's very disconcerting. It's like someone else is writing through me; like the talent is not my own.

If I was typing now, there'd be all those red and green squiggly lines all over my words. They fucking piss me off. I always do the spell check thing after every paragraph; automatically.

So I'm writing now; writing with a fucking pen. I hope when I'm depressed (like five minutes from now) and I read this, I can feel the writing.

I was doing some academic audit thing with a professor. Got an A in writing 101. Got a B in writing 102 because I missed the final exam. Dude didn't know this so he goes "You're not a very good writer, are you?" I swear to fucking God, I could not come up with a retort. No retort in my head even. I doubted myself. I doubted myself because I can't feel my writing anymore. I can't feel the moment. I can't feel shit.

I also do this other thing when I write (type). I check out what I'm writing as I'm writing. Like before I move to the fifth paragraph, I read the first four paragraphs first. It's cool and everything if I glance to remind myself of where I'm going and shit, but I always read the whole fucking thing. I check grammatical errors and try to get rid of squiggly-Bill-Gates lines under my words.

It's like I'm writing for you when I do this. And it's become a habit, an addiction, like my nicotine addiction. The fucking thing is that I didn't even know that this thing I do was a thing. I just did it. At least I know the cigarettes are killing me; and I'm quite cool with that. This thing is killing my writing. I'm doing it because I care what you think. I'm streamlining my shit for you and it's killing my writing. It's why I can't feel anymore.

It's like I'm writing for you. When all this writing shit started, I was writing for me. I have lost the bluntness and authenticity of Nas and subconsciously traded it for the euphemism and flash of Jay-Z. Both Nas and Jay-Z are skilled, but Nas' skill is from the heart and is natural. Jay-Z's skill is pruned and earned and it is useless. It is not meaningful.

So it's a very polite, very nice, no-holds-barred, no-strings-attached, no negative intent, just-for-myself, FUCK YOU to you who is reading this. I hope you understand that I am saying this to you for me. I risk losing your "readership" so that when I read my shit, I can feel good about it. FUCK YOU.

It's what Nas would do.

I hate short one-line paragraphs. They fuck up the symmetry of the whole piece.

You know something? I don't even fucking indent my paragraphs anymore. I think I subconsciously did this to accomodate those fucking one-line paragraphs. I'm a fucking sellout. Just look at the fucking blog. I have to quote myself:

Do you envy me?

You should.

FIREFLY

Like what the fuck is that? Two fucking paragraphs wasted and I didn't even fucking flinch. It's a sad sad world I fucking live in; a sad sad world I write in.

You know, I just realized why I read my shit when I'm depressed. I used to wonder why when I'm depressed, I just point my mouse reflexively to Microsoft Word. It's because I've always done it. I've always done it because it used to make me happy. It used to help lift me out of my depression. Now I just do it because it's habit; and I can't even fucking remember why it's a habit. I have fucking lost myself.

It's very fucking hard not to read the paragraph before this one. It makes my neck cringe; it makes my neck ache. Interesting fact-when I force myself to do something I don't want to do, my neck aches and I have to fucking crack it. I swear to God it's true. I'm walking down the street yeah? I see a chic and I'm tempted to look again. I want to but I shouldn't for whatever reason (I'm walking with my chic, I'll embarass myself, e.t.c). Then I force myself not to look and I have to fucking crack that neck. I always have to.

Do you know how many times I've cracked my neck during the writing of this shit? Count the paragraphs. Don't want to count now. It'll tempt me to read.

It's like everything else in my life. Spiralling out of my fucking control. Can't get a hold on my lungs, my grades, my music and my writing. Can't get a hold on my girl because I'm not supposed to, so that doesn't really count. She's a human being; I shouldn't have a hold on her. However, I keep annoying her with the shit that I say. I've never really cared what people thought about what I said, but I have to this time. And it's killing me. It's like I'm not being myself. Just like the writing thing. Not writing for myself. Let's look at it this way. I want to keep her so it would make sense if I didn't say all those annoying things. I'm still doing what I want by not saying all those things that I want to say because I want to keep her. Twisted logic, but logic nonetheless.

My father in his first and last critique of my writing said I write too-long sentences. I agree. Look how long that last paragraph is; it's fugly. I however can't stop my trains of thought. They are raw, energetic, and beautiful. It would be a damn shame to stop them to please my father; or to please you. FUCK YOU.

All the shit that I've written in the past one to one-and-a-half years give me the same vibe; no vibe. They are the same. Zoom out of the Microsoft Word pages and all of them will look exactly the same. It's probably an image of a pen putting a gun to its head; because its ink is being wasted.

Introspection is a bitch. Everytime I introspect, which is everytime, it always seems like I am further back on my road to redemption. I need time. I need to stop introspecting and actually move.

So if I get my writing in order, I will get everything else in my life in order? Thay all spiral down the same way. My lungs, my music, my grades, my writing and my girl. Somewhere along the way, I lost the reason why I wanted them.

If I get my writing in order, I will get everything else in my life in order. Twisted logic.

P. S : I'm going to type this shit up by the way. And fuck the squiggly lines. I ain't changing shite.