words

it's a wonderful game. self-narration. it totally entertains on the the fifty minute walk to campus, and it really does give everything a whole-ness. it's wonderful. i'm doing it right now! this isn't even my normal voice!

let's think about this rationally. all of this self-narration, all of this need to narrate, the desire to tell stories, to make sense. well, let's agree it must be a little bit to do with my dissertation (oh god, oh god), but also because i'm just FASCINATED by it. a girl i know said she didn't put her feelings into language. what? she said she couldn't understand them in language. she's obviously mad. (she did once say, when asked "what are you thinking?", "i don't think when i feel" so, alright, pretentious?) i have all these theories about how nothing is real or valid or anything until it is in some sort of language. you know what i mean? i don't mean an oral language, no no. i mean the retelling to oneself in the brain. as soon as we start to think any thought in our brain it's formed into some kind of language. some sort of narrative? a beginning, a middle and an end. maybe i'm wrong. but i believe.

so anyway, when i become obsessed with something it's right in my mind, right there, and i think about it constantly, mouth the words of the story to myself as i'm walking through town, so what does that mean to someone like me. that it's really real? well, no. because i'm still just thinking about it. this is where i need to expand my argument. find out what the fuck i'm talking about.

so, apart from thinking about all of that in the past what else have i been doing? smoking, singing and sighing in the cold, listening to Maple Leaves, (she really did talk about the fall), loving every second of autumn.