(Once again written by hand in my spiral notebook)
Blank pages kind of puzzle me...Possibilities are endless to what could be put on it. Stephen King used to say the best way to write was with a fountain pen and dozens of notebooks.
There's something about a blank page that makes me feel oddly optimistic. Everyone starts with a blank page. World famous writers down to elementary students all start with a blank page...
I could start with a blank page and write something that could make the smartest guy in the world go "Hmmmm...", probably not, but still. Or I could write something that makes people want to jab their own eyes out hoping to remove the image of the horrendous combination of words thrown together like a Satanic orgy intended on ensuing for all eternity...
Ha, that was almost poetic. But I guess it's rare to find poetry about blank paper and satanic orgies. It does kind of portray the random train of thoughts that cross my mind. In reality if everyone kept a log of the random thoughts in their heads, as I now do, would there be a similar outcome? Or am I just really weird?
Is my random mind set a gift, or craft, that I have to hone and put to good use? Or is it an obstacle I have to stifle and overcome to take a step towards normality? I guess that's what life is...Sorting your gifts from your curses...
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