Talking to myself, I guess.

I found the following in an old notebook. Can’t remember the exact circumstance of my original writing, but I liked it. Here it be.

I wish I had a normal sleeping schedule, and I wish I could stick to it like a normal human being. I wish I could just have someone to speak too all of the time. It doesn’t even have to be some deep and meaningful conversation, I’m happy to just talk shit about stuff, but I like a continual conversation. It’s the only real way to spend your time that doesn’t just feel empty.
Maybe the first time you read a good book, watch a good film, or engage with a good story. Maybe that can count, because you’re kind of having a conversation with the creators of the story. Maybe that’s why writing can sometimes help as well, whatever the purpose or final outcome of the actual writing. Because you’re having the conversation with the paper, or some reader who only exists in potentia, or maybe even just a conversation with your self. I think all worthwhile time is spent in a conversation of some sort, though. Anything else is just a way to waste time until you can have your next time. Most activities we do are to spark conversation, or to create something to have a conversation about. I don’t know. But I think conversation is what it’s all about. The spoken word, or listening. Rhythms and cadences and lilting tones. Nodding along, smiling, crying. Conversation is fucking wonderful. You should try and have a good conversation every single day, be it with someone via the proxy of their art, or your friend, or even just with yourself, a conversation every single day would probably do you good. At the least it will make you feel less alone in the world, even if the world is trying its very, very best to alienate you amongst itself. Fuck that guy.


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