it could be

I was thinking today, a pastime of mine.

Before I fell asleep for a nap I began writing in my brain. It's funny how perfectly flowing thoughts are when you are completely relaxed. It makes sense then that a stress filled life is typically a short one.

I decided that there are two types of thinkers, the viewer and creator and the logical formulator. I wish that I had the talent to spare words and to write exactly what I mean or how I feel, but most of the time the process of writing all the in between words is exactly how I find the finished product at all. Without the mush, without the entire spectrum, I miss the solid color completely. Figuratively of course that is just my brain. I spend a lot of time with a view to live rather than living. When I say that I mean that I would rather watch people interact with each other and create their world in my own safe space than interact with them myself and experience the reality of what probably consists of a dull conversation.

In many ways, this is an unhealthy way to live. But in other ways I think it is significant to what is defined as the "artists' life". Does the artist live? Does the artist live a lie? Or is the artists' life devoted to recording their view on life. Is that egocentric?

Later Brandon was asking me why there was so much more satisfaction in reading a book than in watching a movie.

I feel like that relates to my sleep induced ponderings earlier. When you read a book, the writer has allowed you to complete his tale in your own mind. Whereas when you watch a movie, you are being spoon fed somebody else's interpretation.

Your ability to create has been inhibited by what IS instead of what could be.

(which is why in scary movies you say to yourself, it's only a movie, it's only a movie it didn't come from my mind)

so, the scariest thoughts of all are your own. Which is why I think so many brilliant artists went crazy. There wasn't enough logic in this world to explain their thoughts. And instead of accepting the unacceptable in general, they rejected themselves.