39

I Don’t Even Know Why I Bothered With This

I have been sitting in this spot for an hour trying to write. I have plenty of things to say, I even have the ambition to do it. It just seems that every time I start a sentence I get this all-knowing meh in my head and I delete them over and over again until I am literally sitting here writing about what I can’t write as I write when I want to write. It is low hanging fruit, but I suppose you need to get what you can nowadays, don’t you?

I have been reading a lot lately and, from those readings as they are varied, I have been piecing together an idea that I have touched upon a few times as a theme, but I think I will focus on as a direct plot point in the future. Not because it is a muse that sings to me, but because it is like the Taos Hum. The Taos Hum is this noise that supposedly only some people can hear outside of, you guessed it, Taos, New Mexico. I will not get into the tinfoil hat shit, but they say it is a noise that you simply really would rather not hear.

That’s what this is. It is a thing in my head that I want out and I want on paper so I can look at it and see if it is something I ever want to be near again or, like this Hum, I want to be far away from it and leave abandoned to die where it flops out of my brainpan. If it is something I really like, however, I already have it a little planned, so we shall see if that develops or, like all the things I write, it simply withers and dies on the vine.

Now that I have written that sentence, I am going to go and find pretty much anything else to do other than this.

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