Random Thoughts

It sometimes seems like I have been doing this for a hundred years: reading, talking, listening, thinking, writing.

And it gets so that I feel so worn down that I couldn't remember another word, that I can no longer imagine how yet another idea could find a place in my head, let alone an original one... even the idea of proofreading and reworking things I have already done is daunting. I find myself wondering whether anything I have written is even worth the trouble - is it clear, is it concise, am I actually saying anything?

Then another hour passes, and I feel the hunger; I yearn for another good conversation, another well written book; I feel the pressure and bustle of ideas mingling and rearranging themselves in my head, I see diagrams and structures, words jumble themselves into a new and amusing combination.

I'll be idly doing what I suppose you would call daydreaming: thinking about feelings, or politics, or economics; mulling over the profoundities or absurdities of a book I am reading, a film I just saw. All of a sudden things will start to crystallize in my head - a way of saying something comes to me, a bit or a piece, or even a whole idea...

I find myself writing yet again, trying to get what I am thinking into shape on a piece of paper, scribbling notes for another, connected idea at the same time, wondering how they really fit together, adding two or three more side works as I go. I simply forget the worries about the value of it all and do what I do, once more.

It seems a day cannot go by that this thirst, this yearning for more and better and deeper ideas does not run through me like a knife, make my veins ache like a terrible habit, make my fingers sore from typing.

I wonder sometimes where it will all lead? Will I someday be able to reassemble some number of these doodlings into a larger, coherent whole that proceeds from introductory words, through expositions and theories, argument and rebuttal, to conclusions and thoughts for further exploration?

Will I write yet another poem that touches me each time I read it? How the hell do I do that, anyway?

01/03/02 - 3 AM

typos? comments? mail me here

© Huw Powell

Printer-friendly version - (no indent)