Wednesday, July 21, 2010


Clearing out some stuff in order to perform an exorcism upon the Kimmel Gene, I've
been sorting my many notebooks and have come across some philosophical and/or poetic
pieces worthy of pride.

(Note: The Kimmel Gene is a family term, referring to the familiar tendency to hoard.)

The things you love aren't real at all.

I wish you could see the world through my eyes.

How can I trust you when I can't find the ground?

In other news, if I weren't such a tactile person, I would consider hiring a typist
to archive everything I've ever written in any of my many notebooks.

But that would be completely unsatisfying because of my kinesthetic learning style,
as well as my ever-increasing OCD tendencies, which would have to be largely ignored
since much of what I have written, I failed to notate with a date including the year.

In other news, I really am beginning to realize the style of writing I most prefer.
I like the rhythm that's created when I write a run-on sentence and read it too fast
in my head. There's a place past run-ons that sounds like mewithoutyou and, if I
don't reach it, at least Flobots.

This explains why I use too many words. Too many? No such thing!