Sometimes I think too much. It can be like a never ending teleprompter that some voice assiduously reads unless im asleep or distracted.
At the same time, thinking is what punches my metre. I am a student of English Literature with my hopes of becoming a facet of study myself. This leaves me with a conundrum: I must learn to tame the beast of my brain without killing it.
In other words, I cannot escape my brain, the teleprompter of doom that it is, so I need to learn to love it. I need a way to distract myself constructively without damaging that which makes up my intellect.
There are many ways of pulling gold from the ground but only a few ways of selling it. I need to learn to extract the gold that is there while also passing it on to everyone else, you mon cherie, in a likeable way – so you want more.
This is especially true as a writer because I must connect to people using utterly common yet wholly personal observations about things, whatever really, in a condensed and comprehensible manner. It doesn’t matter if my gold is the most pure in the world if it looks like shit.
So, a sort of juggling act is required to seperate my public and private spheres without damaging either one. For this is a symbiotic relationship, it reminds of parts in Siddharta by Hesse where the title character examines his life and realizes it’s about balancing with exactitude your skills, or rather whatever you find yourself dealing with day in and out. The same is true in my case.