(no subject)
lets be honest with eachother here.........i really havent done that in a long time and its really having a bad effect on my. karmallically i mean. (i just made up that word in case you were wondering) When I narrate in my head...it doesn't sound like me anymore...it sounds like a british man....I'm guess ing he is about 52 and has that gray/brown sort of hair color. Its thining...but he combs it just so, in order to make the minimum amount of hair cover the maximum amount of area. He has large teeth and very white eyes I think. wrikles around the eye and the mouth. skinny. not very attractive, but for some reason I think he has sex with younger women. probably because of his accent. ANyways, I have this stanger narrating in my head and sometimes he actally has good things to say...but they arent always mine....they start out being mine, but he twists them in his british sort of way and makes them come out all wrong....not wrong, no thats not what I mean....just different.
so this man right, he is aloof, as british men usually are, but when he decides to say something, most often when im writing, i jsut can't get rid of him. ANd I just want to say what i really feel just so it doesnt have to weigh down my organs any longer, but he edits it. He dillutes it and censors it. And then when I'm finnally through and I've used up all ym strenght to in the attempt to pour out my soul in ink, I dont feel that satifaction of freedom from those heavy words. That satisfaction that I craved so much it made me pick up my pen in the first place. Instead I feel stifled, censored, discontent, tense. my jaw tenses up....it gives me a headache.
I wodner if someday this british men and I can become friends. Maybe we can like make a truce or something. He can leave me alone wheni write, and instead he ca occasionally pop in for chats when I can't sleep at nght or something. Right now he hasnt materialized in my mind quite enough to chat with me, but at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually did.
so this man right, he is aloof, as british men usually are, but when he decides to say something, most often when im writing, i jsut can't get rid of him. ANd I just want to say what i really feel just so it doesnt have to weigh down my organs any longer, but he edits it. He dillutes it and censors it. And then when I'm finnally through and I've used up all ym strenght to in the attempt to pour out my soul in ink, I dont feel that satifaction of freedom from those heavy words. That satisfaction that I craved so much it made me pick up my pen in the first place. Instead I feel stifled, censored, discontent, tense. my jaw tenses up....it gives me a headache.
I wodner if someday this british men and I can become friends. Maybe we can like make a truce or something. He can leave me alone wheni write, and instead he ca occasionally pop in for chats when I can't sleep at nght or something. Right now he hasnt materialized in my mind quite enough to chat with me, but at this rate, I wouldn't be surprised if he eventually did.