Spitting out words

He got back into it; spitting words was what he loved the most of this life. Talking, even if what he said made no sense, was a way of freeing himself of the chains that some kind of stupid monster had laid upon him. Writing was how he got to stick down onto the ground the countless tentacles that the monster had; each letter was like a staple that immobilized a little piece of the beast's limbs.

That's why he did it. Yes, he also craved some kind of fame, as if what he was writing was worth something. He had those silly delusions of grandeur that helped him go one step further, the idea of being able to become huge, the wishful thinking of having his words appreciated; but that was just an added bonus.

Writing was like some kind of religion, it was his way of talking to whichever god he felt like talking to. He believed that the pure expression of writing the first thing that came to his mind was connecting him with it, that it was his way o showing him the way of being, existing, whatever. If something was right or wrong, the words would say it. The improvisation in itself was not an incoherent and continuous flux of ideas, but rather a constant message being delivered by a higher state of consciousness that saw it all clearer than him

It was also a way of emptying his mind; by writing down every single thought he came up with he got to leave them behind, to accept them as what they were and move on to the next stop. ¿Needing to work more? ¿Looking for your feeling to get right? Yes, they were problems, but not the ones that the text was about to solve. There were more important matters.

Yeah, maybe those issues seem bigger, but there's something way more important than what you'll do tomorrow, and it is what you'll do now. There is no tomorrow with no now, and there would have been no now without yesterday; that means that for getting to the solution of the issue you thought about a minute ago you just have to wait, to keep on living, to stay on the road sorting out every obstacle that comes up, and while you work at it the solution will come.

And it is not a passive view on problems; when that continuous flux of words says "working at shit" or "sorting out whatever" it means that there are everyday issues related to the future choices you'll be forced to make; how you face these issues on a dily basis will settle down the path you'll have to follow, so that once you're face to face with the problem you've been waiting for you don't have to think twice and simply act.

And as I said, the first step is to follow that voice into the instant future, that after those words are written becomes the now and when this sentence finishes it has already been. That instant future goes right through my bed, meaning that it's time to sleep.