The point is that you can never ever run out of things to write about. Just let your hand go, and it will write something. If you put no blocker on it, no filter, and you have no criteria, and just write whatever is flying through your brain down on a piece of paper, or a wall, or a table, or whatever it is you’re writing on, you can’t possibly run out of things to write because your brain is always firing, there’s always something shooting through it, every fleeting moment from its formation until your death — your brain-death, that is. If your heart is beating but your brain is blank, you aren’t really alive, because you can’t write anymore. At that point, you have truly run out of ideas.
As is often said, “The Children may grow old and die, but the Names stay the same.” A more accurate truism has never existed in popular discourse, and I proclaim that with the utmost pride. It was My first day on the Board, but I knew I needn’t be nervous. My many Grandfathers’ years of Accumulation had been in the service of My possession of this seat, and, My father perished, here I was at last. I was a Boardmember. I was now an Issuer of Decisions, not just a Beneficiary. Nor, of course, a helpless receiver of consequences. But need that even be said? I smiled softly to Myself as I burst through the Boardroom doors with a sudden and necessary confidence about Me. The other Boardmembers had already arrived. They sat on Their elevated seats, comfortably above the podium that marked the position of the coming Proctor. From the moment I entered They stared down at me. Their gazes were soft and unthreatening, for I was, of course, One of Them. Still, They were curious about thi...
one of my absolute favorite entries
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