dreaming on paper

Honesty. Throwing myself into the open world. I'm back. Where have I been? I don't know? I was flickering. In fact I've been flickering ever since my sixteenth summer, when my existence really came into being (does that phrase make sense), it was a time I came to realize I existed, and that the world has colours and the abstract world revealed itself much more exciting, offered to me an infinite rainbow of hope, more so than my high school math classes ever did... what was I saying...

I forgot... but on the topic of flickering… it’s not sad. To be drawn in solid lines is sad.

I’m back. On this bright and windy afternoon in the end of September. Experimental writing has no place in literature, but it has a place in my blog, and my blog is not literature. Make sense?

That’s fair. I’m not accountable for what I say here. Not accountable at all.

I have three dreams.

I want to publish a book of fiction
I want to host a Cantonese radio show
I want to be a high school English teacher and guidance counselor

In the process of pondering these dreams I scribble lists and diagrams and various doodles of what I ought to do to achieve these and how to overcome the things that stand in my way. I have made a habit of dreaming on paper. I shall not only dream on paper. Dear me.

I’m not being honest now.

Wait.

Let’s switch into third person.

Hi Adam. How are you today? You’re not being honest. You’re also being judgmental. The fact that I’m telling you you’re judgmental shows just how judgmental you are! But you can come out of it. Yes I know how much you like to loiter in coffee shops and scribble blue and black lines on white paper with multiple to-do lists. I know. I know. Why don’t you… go make yourself some lunch, and if the weather is so gorgeous today, why not head downtown and go watch that play you’ve been wanting to watch. You have this thing about you, you know that. That thing you said yesterday about the cars… about that truck that transported eight Chevy whatever-model cars, one of each colour. I saw the expression on your face. You found it so interesting because you’ve never seen a transporter carry eight shimmering new cars of the same model and each of a different colour! Nobody else saw it. Only you did. They did not react to your comment because they saw nothing worthwhile about it. But you saw everything. Everything. This is why I like you.

To eat, to sleep, to sleep, perchance to dream, not on paper, but to translate scribbles into action, and action into dreams, and whatever…

I want soup for lunch.