Why I Write

Why I Write by Mason WordWhy I Write

I was looking around but I could not find it. I had lost it some time as I was growing. I keep listening to the sounds around me trying to find it. That one tune I used to know but that I have now forgotten. I am trying to find that song once again; the sound that used to resonate within me.

When I had that tune times were a bit simpler.

I did not have to worry about things that the adults then cared about. I was me and that was enough. I had no need to fit in with anyone else. I had no need to look at this thing called society and to try to do what it wanted me to do. I was not concerned with how I looked or how I acted. I wanted to express myself. I wanted to sing my own song.

Back then I was doing what was called “marching to the beat of my own drum.”

Back then I still had the strength to beat my own drum. That strength slowly got sapped until I felt like no part of that strength remained. I still had the fire within me but I did not quite know it. I could not hear the snap, the crackle, and the twang as the fire roared, as it once did. What was left was only a cinder, and that cinder was hidden for so long.

I grew to be wary but I never gave in. I knew the world was against me but I did not mind. I kept pushing forward. They all said I was different. They all said that I should change. I knew I was fine just being me and I wanted them to leave me the hell alone. I was expressing who and what I was, and who and what I still am. It is my nature to be me, and you know what they say about nature. Man may try to get in her way but man will never prevail against the acts of God.

God put me on this green earth to be who I am.

No one has been able to stop me yet and no one will. My drum still beats loudly and I can hear it off in the distance.

Now I am trying to figure out what the song is that it still plays. I once knew the words to it so well but now that knowledge has been forgotten. The closer I get to that pounding place within my heart, the more I learn to dance to its pulsating rhythm once again. It is my music, my power, and my song. I am nearing closer and closer to the sound within that I had thought that I had lost and, now I know, I will not lose it again.

For so long I was bombarded with the shrapnel of the bombs of the world.

Society tried to keep me down but I was restless. I did not relent, and when I was my very closest to giving in, my best friend saved me.

He taught me that I could be who I am. Even though his methods are quite questionable, they have never failed to work for me. He brought me back to life. He cracked open my thick skull and sent me searching for answers. What came after that was a grand maze, one I was already in but had forgotten. I was looking for answers. I was looking for a way out. He showed me that there were no answers and that there is no escape. For that, I cannot thank him enough.

I still keep looking for answers now.

“Do to know, and know to do.” That is something I have to tell myself every now and then. I try to know a bit more than I try to do in these times. That is why I am writing this now. I want to rediscover that sound within me. I keep getting closer and closer to that fire, but I need to find more fuel.

This is it. This is the fuel that will light the cinder in my core into a blazing inferno once again. I just wanted to be able to express myself then and now I find myself being expressive more and more. As I type these words I can feel the fire in my heart burning more and more.

The fire has presented itself as anger before and the fire in my heart has ways of presenting itself in intensity now.

I keep wanting to prove to myself that I can be who I once was like it matters or something. I keep saying I can do this or that and then thinking about it too much instead of doing it. I really do not like that about me. Just talking about it now is getting me all worked up. I am getting pretty pissed now.

What will I do with this anger? I will keep writing. This is a way I can be who I am. This is one of the ways I can show myself I am alive. I see words flowing onto this page, one letter at a time. Each letter is the stroke of a finger. A finger that belongs to me and a finger that I am getting to do as I please. I make my fingers work not by thinking about them, but my doing it.

Action shall be my salvation.

I will find that song again. Not by thinking about it, but by singing until I hit the right notes. I will find the words I have lost. I will find the tune I once hummed. I will find that marvelous symphony though looking, and not through thinking.

I keep thinking about what is and what could be. The pressure the world placed upon me still weighs me down. I want everything to be perfect. I want everything to happen the right way. Even if the right way is by my own design and not by the design of any others. One thing that society taught me is that nothing I do is right. I have not done anything right for so long that I really do not know why I am still afraid to do things wrong. Screw it all.

I keep writing. I keep dreaming.

I do not have to think. I know so many different things. I do not have to think about how to walk, or how to count, or how to add two plus two, and I do not need to think nearly as much as I do about how to live my own life. Screw it all.

I keep saying things and trying to act like I do not care, but I do care. If I did not care then I would not have to keep saying that I do not care. I want to think. Thinking is a part of who I am. Sometimes I even think that I act a lot like the world that tried to pull me down so much acted. I find myself trying to tell me that I do not need to think. I find myself saying I need to do this or to do that. I even find myself saying that I do not need to tell myself that I need to do this or do that. The more I look for an answer the more I see that there is no answer.

There are an infinite amount of false dichotomies out there. There are more never-ending paradoxes than I could ever count. I will not find an answer by thinking. I will find an answer by the power of my own pen, even if that pen is a keyboard.

I will search by what I do.

Then again, thoughts can be actions too. My nature is that of paradox, so why do I keep trying to find an out? The maze is all that there is. I would normally try to bring myself solace at this point by saying that everything would be alright if I just accept the maze, but I think that is against the point I am trying to make to myself. Rather I accept the maze or not, it is still there.

Some president said before that the only thing to fear is fear itself. I kind of like that idea. The only maze that is around here is the maze. The puzzle itself is a puzzle. Find out an answer and there will be another question. Maybe I am not supposed to accept it. Maybe I am supposed to just keep propelling myself forward along the journey. Keep turning. Left, right, or straight ahead; there is no way out.

So if there is no way out then why do I keep trying to find a way out?

Why not just relish the passageways? It is like that one old screen saver that most kids these days will never even know existed. I saw it a couple times at doctor’s offices where they still used monitors that looked like a box. There was an ever-shifting path that was being followed on the screen. No matter how long I would watch the screen change in one direction or the other the maze would never end.

Life is like that. One turn is followed by another. I like to know which way I am going through. Even if there is no end to the maze, I still like to know what is ahead. Here we go again. I am starting to justify my thinking. Paradoxes abound. The more I find that there are no answers, the more answers I find.

“Move forward and do not hesitate.” This is another thing one of my best friends tells me. “Abandon your fear.” I do not even know what I fear. Maybe this is why I like that one quote by that president so much. “The only thing to fear is fear itself.” The only maze is the maze. The only paradox is the paradox.

It all just keeps going in circles.

I always find myself moving forward, even if it looks like I am just going back the way I came. Maybe moving forward is the not the answer. Maybe the answer is that I just need to move.

If I am moving, then does it really matter if I am moving in the right direction? There is no right direction. The world tried to tell me that there was a right direction and now I keep telling myself there is a right direction. This is what I meant when I said that I think the world kind of rubbed off on me a bit in the wrong way.

Why do I keep trying to do what is right, and why do I care if what I do even is right? Back when I was a little kid I did not give two flying you-know-whats about what was right and what was not right. I just expressed myself. I just did what I did. I danced each and every day to my own song. I lived moving to the music that no one else could hear.

When it comes to music there is no right and there is no wrong.

This is why art is so beautiful. There is no bad art. Even the bad art is good art or there would not be a literal museum of bad art. There is no right and there is no wrong when it comes to music, to writing, to self-expression, or to life.

This is why I write.

I am trying to find that song that I lost. I am trying to find the sound within myself. I am trying to find that place once again where everything I do is right rather it seems that way or not. I am trying to express myself and I am succeeding.


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Mason Word

Life is all about the lulz. The lulz and the enablement of further lulz.

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