I worry I am becoming less creative the older I get. I worry that I begin too many statements and questions and commands with the word "I." I used to worry that I used the word "and" in excess, but I don't worry too much about that anymore. I worry that one day I will realize that I've never tasted all of the fruit in the world and I will be crushed beyond belief. All it is is a part of a flowering plant, the means by which these plants disseminate seeds. And it also happens to be the subject of still life paintings. The apple was the one thing Eve could not resist. Is it still life when you are cast out from your home due to an all-too-human surrender? You surrender to what some may consider sin; you consider the flesh divine.
There I go on another tangent. Maybe my entire life has been a tangent? I am not sure I exactly understand the definition of "tangent," though. I guess a lot of my writing is mere stream-of-consciousness. That style can be exhausting for not only the reader, but for the writer as well. Sometimes I want to dam up that stream, you know? Not that much electricity would be generated from my stream. I am not sure I exactly understand how dams work. Or streams. Streams lead to oceans, correct? And do fish swim against or with the current? Currently I don't care. If I don't care, why do I keep asking questions? There I go again.
And again I've written another blog post that doesn't quite say much (while at the same time saying so much!!! right?!?! like, read between the lines, man!!! or woman! female followers, hello! i appreciate you!). I am not sure I exactly understand how to use the mighty parenthesis. But why do I feel the constant need to be exact? Maybe living in the exact, in the precise, in the supposedly "all-knowing" is all crap. It's a delusion, it's a destination that will never be reached, it's the apple at the top of the tree that upon closer inspection is actually not an apple at all. It's the moon. It was an optical illusion and now you can't trust your eyes, your mind, or the moon. There is no creativity to be found when you are too busy doubting the mess. Sometimes inaccuracy offers us the fruit of its labors. It's up to us to step outside and take a bite.