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Who I speak to.

I don't know why I'm bothering. Really.

Perhaps I feel that was writers, someone would understand.

If any of you were to really spend any long periods around me, you would see it. Say...we became neighbors maybe. Lived in the same apartment complex. Maybe you have a huge house, and I rented a room. Maybe we're roommates for whatever reason.

I can often be found speaking. Seemingly to no one. Allow me to explain this pathetic practice.

Our reality and senses are often referred to as our 'stream of consciousness.'

At some point in your younger years, your brain finally begins recording memories that you can actively retrieve. Thus begins your stream of consciousness.

I feel as if my stream is moving faster than others.

We've all had it. Those days/nights where you simply can't turn your mind off. Thoughts come and do not stop.

For writers, we hope that they are ideas. More often than not, though, our thoughts are either mundane, useless idle processing, or they are worries, fears, hopes, dreams, daydreams.

As I've said, as soon as I was about six-eight years old, my memories finally became steady. I discovered music, and spent hours using a walkman cd player.

I played video games and listened to animations and music videos. The action, or storylines set to music, formed a connection in my mind. So, as fans of fiction often do, soon enough, I started thinking of my own stories.

Most people cannot afford to zone out to music or daydream for so long. Not me. I was homeschooled, had no job of course when I was young, and too much free time.

Anywhere from 6-8 hours a day was spent daydreaming, half of the time accompanied to whatever songs I had downloaded.

But I grew tired of solely visualizing weapons. I bought a machete, and began 'forging' my own sharpened sticks to swing around.

Then, as I've said, I used fiction solely as a basis to reinvent myself. But those habits stayed. Well, how does the brain work again?

We are creatures of habit. Pathways in our mind become stronger.Hours of daydreaming had left my mind numbed to logical processing... But now, I was a living idea factory.Imagine the best brainstorming session you can ever have. That never stops.

Caffeine or not. Sleep, or no sleep. No matter how physically or mentally tired I am, that it what my brain does.I can only stay in an idle, or focused, state of mind for about three seconds. Then the storm rolls thunder again.

I can write. But my hands get tired and my mind refuses to focus too much on a single idea. I enjoyed discussing these ideas with my brother, for a time. Before he got sick of me.

Having not a soul alive to talk to... the acting sessions began.

Swinging sticks in the yard, shouting at thin air, making up speeches about bodily energy and the reason that Iron ISN'T actually an antimagic. As my characters became more real, I started to imagine them.

Not imaginary friends... a mental construct.

Any one of my characters. I put myself in the place of one... and imagine the others. Then I act it out.

And when I have no one to make speeches to, I imagine one of them is there, asking, 'What about this?' Solving my own plot holes.

It's strange. It's weird. I'm not normal. And I don't care. That's why I'm so scared. Who would REALLY want to live with an insane young man? No one.

Besides... what if my brain could focus on something else?

Career driven workaholics waste away from stress. I don't want to live that miserable life.

But my parents are worried. I scare them.

I tell them I'm not freaking posessed! It's purely a creation of my own mind that I have completely in control at all times.

If one of my characters actually spoke to me, unbidden, then yes, I would be scared. But they don't.

It's just a practice. A hobby. A way to fill the time. No different than twiddling your thumbs, or tapping your foot.


Normal is a mental construct designed by the mundane. Take any person who accomplished a lot in their lifetime, normal doesn't add up. Ben Franklin was the exact opposite of nearly every one of his fellows. He proudly played around with women, did not follow a religion religiously, and took air baths comprised of sitting in front of an open window wearing only a sheen of sweat and a smile. Edison had enough money to damn near anything he desired, yet he would use his custom made pencils until his fingertips smudged out the markings they made. Poe... there's a really typical guy. Pollock. There's another guy who always played along the lines others had drawn. Whitman, really run-of-the-mill dude too. Jadon, it took me a long time to figure it out, but normal is how mundane people scribble lines around behaviors they enjoy in the hopes of making those lines the common guidelines. Truly interesting people make their own lines, and develop their own norms. What is normal for you is what's normal for you. Worrying how you are seen is always going to be problematic, because you may be putting yourself next to a guideline drawn by someone who is boring and uni-dimensional. Warhol, Pollock, Whitman, Poe, they drew their own guidelines and lived by their own standards. They are remembered. Some guy from 1914 who married age 18, went to college at 18, started working in a firm at 22, retired at 65, died at 68, and never thought for himself, he may be respected, but he won't be remembered. What's respect more than admiration based on opinions. Of course his peers respected him, but only because they saw him as an equal. If that's what you want, there's nothing wrong with it, but there's also nothing wrong with going your own way and making your own path.

So, you have found a way to entertain yourself. In the general scheme of things I'd say your method works better than 90% of the population, because it's not hurting anyone. It impacts you, unlike... a street racer who will sooner or later take a life for the sake of his entertainment. Or the stoner who ruins the lives of those around them thanks to their entertainment. Or the drunk who entertains himself by getting drunk and beating innocent people up. Your entertainment is, at worst, a slight impact to folks who are incredibly sensitive to it. If only we could get the rest of the world to do something so tolerable...

You're different, but seeing how some people are, being "different" may be the best compliment of all.

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Crowley K. Jarvis
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