That's not been the point. though i know that shouldn't be my concern, i haven't got any of the stories written that i wanted to. these stories... they fall out of my mouth with life and action... they fall out of my mouth without a thought [lie], but my hands lie. my hands fit things into rhythm and rhyme. my hands force things into silly fantasie worse than my mouth. it's as if i have no choice but i'm sure i do. but the noise [the quiet in my head] is filled with my voice when i'm writing: i can hear the words, see them form... feel them as they're being typed out... but my mouth occupies me, gives me less time for fabrication... with other people there i'm much more on gaurd not to waste such time.
but here... i appologize. i feel that all ov you are just having your time wasted [not that there are all that many of you and not as if you were spending much time here, but...]
it's also much more difficult without the interaction. i can't really see how any of you actually respond to this. my own motivation is low to the point where i feel like i'm actually doing this all for you... for you
oh, i wanna educate you. i wanna teach you what i[don't]know. i want to give away everything i have in my head in hopes i get things back that i can mix with it all
instead it's quiet here.
i know... i'm going to try...
i'm TRYING...
i want to try.
silly
and concerned with time
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