Reading is a real chore for me. A friend gave me his writings to read. I can guess his purpose; I am supposed to read it then give feedback. I start on the chore, and it is a chore. I wade my way through his elaborately constructed phrases which are littered with all his obviously favoured words. I get bored. See how simply I put this? I got bored----quickly. Yawn. It's not at all captivating. I don't wish to read any more of it. It does nothing for me. But he has an expectation. And that would be feedback and of course if I wish to remain his friend the feedback must be positive. But how can I feel positive about something I found to be devoid of interest, totally uninspiring and uninspired?
It is now my dear reader that my heart goes out to you. You suffer my writings. Fortunately you are able to click away from them the instant you find them to be boring. What a blessing! And the silence of all except my own voice here merely shows the lack of bullseyes in my targeting your interest. I am thankful for this however. Why? Because it tells me that I am totally unique. I enjoy being uninspired and alone in my world. I too find all the thoughts of others to be totally uninteresting and become bored so quickly now. Most I read is simply the words of others and they are not really important. Are they? And most of the time in fact all of the time they are just ideas and concepts you have read before over and over simply rehashed. Yes you do get to the stage- heard it all before. It hits you about 50. And what a revelation.
Then the frantic search begins--
The question is:
Where do we go for new input? And what the fuck do we search for?
So many words and so little sense. This is the first sign of my madness. The others will follow shortly in sweet succession.