Often I find myself strangely empty so I try to find new things to please my mind with. New books, new music or new thoughts and ideas to make me feel surrounded by zephyrous winds. But strangely, this time I had all those thoughts, but suddenly I felt as if I had so much of them and I couldn’t get them off my head.
And they feel as if accumulating and weighing. They feel strangely thalassic for too long of a time, as if they couldn’t mature in time to become texts so it’s hard to talk about them, as they barely have a shape. And as they are accumulating, they also don’t care if they won’t be unloaded, and it seems my mind is still being loaded with thoughts and it’s more than I can take.
One of the reasons this overload is more stressing than ever is because I’m suddenly concerned about talking about ideas that won’t last. Up to this day I was mostly talking about everything coming to my mind, but as time passes by I’m finding myself much more exigent about what I am talking here, and apparently my own oceanic measurement seems to have changed, as what could be considered photic is much more rare.
But then again, though rather uncomfortable, that could be a good sign. As far as I can remember, this has always happened before some ordering droplet came by. This is the usual feeling I have before the birth of any big idea, construction or realization. It’s the chaos that slowly becomes patterns, trails, motions and rhythms that will become a photic-shaped creation