capacity

I’ve always though that if I applied a systematic approach to a disordered world I’d find a reason. I would kill the chaos with formulas and functions, rhymes and reasons. I’d be able to stop and point out exactly what was what.

I don’t know what I’m looking for. I know I’m seeking something. I know that every bit that I’ve collected is just the beginning to a whole.

My mind never stops. I gather and store information like the Dewey Decimal systems. It’s what has made my poor analogies so plentiful. Every moment of the day I’m asking why. I want the explaination. I want the reasoning. If I can’t get it I’ll make it up.

Maybe if I started to write I wouldn’t lie so much. Lie. I don’t like to label myself as a liar. I’d much prefer creative genius, trickster, artist. Not a liar.

It’s driving me insane. Slowly at first, but the need for words and explaination is eroding the rough road. Insanity. I wonder if my insurance covers extended stays. Somtimes I think the culmination of information in my head is the master with the whip driving me down the crooked lane. Sometimes I want to be driven.. mostly I wish I was the driver.

Why is it that I can’t write these thoughts down without feeling guilty. Without feeling ashamed that I feel like I have an intelligent brain. Perhaps intelligent isn’t the word. I have a sponge for a brain. Maybe it has a ultimate capacity level, maybe not.

What happens when you hit capacity as a sponge?

I think you drown.