Seth’s World View

Why do I write? Why speak? Is it for people to know? And how many want to know? Is it more important to be known or seek to know others? I’d think the latter. I speak, and here my words return to me, repeatedly. They get jumbled, and by the time they circle back, I don’t recognize them, or maybe I don’t want to. I think too many words, and though I don’t talk all that often, I say too many words, or maybe don’t say enough of the right ones, if there is a such a thing. My words fail to connect meaning with the definition in another person’s mind, even less so intent. And then I wonder if I should even speak. Then when I speak, will it be coldly calculating or fiercely emotional? Will it be logical or poetic? I sigh. Time passes, I sigh again. And there aren’t even dictionary words to explain the thoughts inside my head at this moment. Words do fail, because language fails to explain all that exists, less so the random verbosity that waits to spill out, and has no form with which to be defined. And so I’m at a loss, fataly relying on conjunctions and prepositions formed into phrases of multiple syllables in unrhythmic patterns. Void.