Nothing to say

I write my best when I have nothing to say. No point to prove, no theory to falsify.  All of that is quite boring, and it has made it harder for me to finish what I started years ago.  I lost sight of this but I can get back to it now.

There's a reason for this.  When I'm trying to prove something, I know I can never write something as pure and sublime as the underlying truth that makes it true in the first place.  All I really want, in my human endeavour towards truth, is to experience it and be able to describe it.  That's far less ambitious and far more palatable for an audience - a mere description of truths experienced rather than a nagging reminder that the truth is more than you think.

And this explains a lot about my motivations that I couldn't understand before.  Why I cringe at the idea of applying for my masters in philosophy, but remind myself bi-weekly that's what I want to do when I'm 40.  I don't really want to do that until I'm in touch with a deeper layer of life truth.  That's why I didn't go straight into that career.  That's why I wanted to write first and foremost.

Sensations require words, the rest of the universe does well enough with mathematics.

But there are no sensations without experience.  And I don't doubt that I have experienced the many fictions that swim in my head.  These feelings are not neurons.  But with these experiences of the mind that I embark to put in print over the next 2 months and onward, I need to give myself to them.  Certain experiences, perhaps all experiences that are a benefit, require your permission to truly affect you.  For the next little while, it's signal through the noise, as I give myself to my thoughts.