In the tone of a delusional, teenaged girl with the tone of a
kind of frustration and delight and shock and bliss after reading
a good, sad book. (The Kite Runner, anyone?)
Okay so, it's obvious I've lost my ability to concoct one of
those (possibly feigned) meaningful spiels (did I really think
they'd satisfy my royal annoyance of the current state of the
universe? oh sh*t) that I always tried to put together but never
really quite achieved the right degree of personal satisfaction
or bring an edge of common sense. (What's the point in reading if
there is NO point in it? I murdered the English language!) I just
wish I could find the key to the door that hides the remedy to my
poisonous language skills. Because oh, my god, everything has
structure and you just can't miss the basics. The
basics!
It's frustrating because I read a lot and sometimes wish I could
write like them. It's not that I want to write a book, I just
want to put words together in a way that would finally satisfy me
so I can peacefully release my bat wings and sputter glitter and
reunite with my definitely-not-vampires family. (Yes, this is
called 'lecturing myself.' And I can't stand vampires.
Seriously.)
I don't really know, maybe my brain unhinged itself from speaking
and feeling fluently as should a human but lately, the things I
have been saying is only ever left to becoming disconnected and
unconveyed to the point it is not worth a thought. This makes no
sense. Am I thinking too much, thinking too little? I make no
sense. But that's okay, all is okay with me. This is no rant in
particular and definitely nothing beneficial or whatsoever to
anyone or anything and I cannot guarantee that things I say are
filtered and inoffensive (please worry, I'm not just talking
about swearing, even though my vocabulary downright sucks), if
you've read this far, please, know that I've already warned
you.
Sometimes I feel so violated when a book convincingly convolute
my morals and beliefs. It's like I have to remind myself with
force of what I should believe and this is just a work of
fiction. But fiction, albeit unreal, still has its effect.
"Made-up stories matter for precisely the same reason that
anything matters: because we decide they matter, because we imbue
them with meaning." (John Green, in an answer to a question on
his Author's Note)
Can I just say I love everything he writes? Frankly, I'd read
his grocery list.
