Should I date these? Sometimes I don’t post them in order. I haven’t posted Bedtimes Thoughts number 5, and I probably never will because I’m not very proud of it (and the other posts are pride worthy writing?) not necessarily, but they aren’t completely devoid of minor ounces of goodness.
I do desperately want to be a better writer. I want to have a better writing work ethic, and write more meaningful things. Things with emotion, and humor, and knowledge, and all that good crap wrapped into them. I haven’t entirely learned how to. I don’t think more writing classes can help because I don’t think it’s a ‘knowing what to do’ thing. I think it’s more a ‘getting off my lazy ass and doing it’ thing, metaphorically speaking though. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but after a short while it becomes burdensome to write unless you’re on your ass while doing it.
I think if I had to I could compose some writing with substance. Wait, no I couldn’t. What I meant to say is that I know what writing that has substance is. I know what it’s made of. But much like a car I know the main components that it’s made of but if I had to I couldn’t put them together and make a working vehicle (complete bullshit) it’s true, I have very little idea what the main components of a automobile are, I just know that they aren’t the same components that make up autoerotic asphyxiation, but the point is still valid.
I haven’t learned how to write with substance but still have the writing reflect me. Right now my writing is crap, but at least it reflects who I am, which is sad because I guess that means I’m depression over girls and masturbation jokes – I like to think every time a word is used or written it’s born out of nothing and has its own conscious and every word aspires towards greatness, and hopes to be part of a Shakespeare poem, or hit movie quote, and afterwards in word Heaven, or Hell, they get together and talk about it and a Liberty is like, “I got to be part of the Declaration of Independence,” and a Don’t is like, “I was the Don’t in ‘frankly my dear I don’t give a damn’,” and then there’s like an It or something hiding in the corner filled with shame because it was used in one of my masturbation jokes.