Ideas in time perpetuate the mind.

 

The stream of consciousness is an unusual concept.  If you sit and you stare and you start to think of what goes through the brain and then attempt to convert this base of thought into words, you stop. 

 

Writing down how you really feel is the hardest thing in the world.  Language, the written word, is inadequate.  Orwell knew it.  I know it now.

 

Despite these... limitations, I will share with you, the words that floated within my mind during one spell of destructive criticism-

 

Hello?

Why?

Despair?

"Nothing comes of nothing"

The end.

 

Pray, do not be alarmed, I do not think like this constantly.  Sometimes, I perhaps even draw a horse.

 

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