I look here and go, a month and 4 days since I posted. Shall ye discourage yourself? Yeah probably, as those voices inside who say nope writing is too hard as it takes a lot of energy to write more than just what type of lamp or salad dressing I like. The rust inside covers up the ideas and thoughts. The feelings and the memories of anything that you wish to express. Whether it is for the whole world to hear or simply to see the words you felt, in front of you. Making it more real or validating the point that you have been mulling over.
It is an exercise, literally, you are twisting, stretching the mind to make it feel. Make it push out the words that you truly want to express. I find that I can have some of the most amazing jobs and when people ask what I do, I can go “well I do this cool job” or, “I get to do this really hilarious and non work sounding work!” but then when you lay awake at night, restlessness is still there. That gentle breeze that nudges you inside, makes that single thread tickle you. Tells you that you aren’t doing what you should be, what your soul wants to do. What your gut consistently tells you to do. Writing the words can be as hard as sticking your finger down your throat, yet you know once you do it, you will vomit out something. Verbal vomit can be a simple chore or it can make someone think at least. Whether that someone be one person or one group of people. A pod of people, a gaggle of guys, a hood of hobos. Even the hobos can be inspired, even the common vomit can be called a puddle of colour.
The words can hop, skip, stagger or fall but at least they move. When they are stagnant and not going anywhere, then that little tickle is felt. And your world pours in so many other sensations, to block out the little itch. Yet no matter how big or fun or stimulating these other feelings are, the reality is, the tickle will never go away unless you speak.
Edwin Jones. 18th June 2012.