Jun 2017
I don't like new notebooks.
I mean, I like new, beautiful, clean, pristine notebooks,
but I don't like using them.
I don't want to ruin it.
I open up to the first page and it's so blank, so white, so pure,
there's not an imperfection in sight.
I don't want to use it because I don't want to mess it up. I want it to stay perfect, and beautiful.
I don't want that inevitable ****** drawing or poem to **** it up.
I don't want my uncleanliness, my messiness to spread to something so perfect.
I do end up using it. If I didn't, I'd just have a bunch of empty notebooks lying around which honestly I'd prefer.
But I take forever to do it, to break the seal.
I have to have the perfect thing to ruin perfection because if it's not perfect, it's not worth it to ruin it.
It goes two ways though:
The first entry is perfect, beautiful, inspiring, deep,
and then I never use that book again.
Because now it's perfection is magnified.
I couldn't possibly follow it up with something better or just as good,
and it's quite possible that the more I try to come up with something good to match, the initial piece deteriorates and it becomes disappointing, thus resulting in the notebook not being used.
The second way this goes is the first entry is trash.
It's disgraceful and I want to tear it out
but suddenly the book becomes less daunting, less intimidating because now, it's imperfect.
Every entry to follow doesn't have to live up to some grand standard.
But I'm reminded everytime I use that book that I failed, that I created garbage.
It makes everything that comes after, not as good as what I want to do, it lacks passion.
If I tear out the initial entry, the cycle starts over.
No matter which way you spin it, we just don't get along. I end up with a bunch of half used, disappointing books sitting around haunting me as I walk by.
A notebook is reflective of who you are,
it displays the deepest parts of you.
What if your unhappy with what you see on the page?
What if what you see isn't you?
What if, this blank, empty page of nothingness is better than what you are?
Why would you want to ruin something so pure and perfect with your mess?
Because nothing you ever write, draw, sketch, compose or create on it will ever be as good as it's once held purity.
-t.s.
I mean, I like new, beautiful, clean, pristine notebooks,
but I don't like using them.
I don't want to ruin it.
I open up to the first page and it's so blank, so white, so pure,
there's not an imperfection in sight.
I don't want to use it because I don't want to mess it up. I want it to stay perfect, and beautiful.
I don't want that inevitable ****** drawing or poem to **** it up.
I don't want my uncleanliness, my messiness to spread to something so perfect.
I do end up using it. If I didn't, I'd just have a bunch of empty notebooks lying around which honestly I'd prefer.
But I take forever to do it, to break the seal.
I have to have the perfect thing to ruin perfection because if it's not perfect, it's not worth it to ruin it.
It goes two ways though:
The first entry is perfect, beautiful, inspiring, deep,
and then I never use that book again.
Because now it's perfection is magnified.
I couldn't possibly follow it up with something better or just as good,
and it's quite possible that the more I try to come up with something good to match, the initial piece deteriorates and it becomes disappointing, thus resulting in the notebook not being used.
The second way this goes is the first entry is trash.
It's disgraceful and I want to tear it out
but suddenly the book becomes less daunting, less intimidating because now, it's imperfect.
Every entry to follow doesn't have to live up to some grand standard.
But I'm reminded everytime I use that book that I failed, that I created garbage.
It makes everything that comes after, not as good as what I want to do, it lacks passion.
If I tear out the initial entry, the cycle starts over.
No matter which way you spin it, we just don't get along. I end up with a bunch of half used, disappointing books sitting around haunting me as I walk by.
A notebook is reflective of who you are,
it displays the deepest parts of you.
What if your unhappy with what you see on the page?
What if what you see isn't you?
What if, this blank, empty page of nothingness is better than what you are?
Why would you want to ruin something so pure and perfect with your mess?
Because nothing you ever write, draw, sketch, compose or create on it will ever be as good as it's once held purity.
-t.s.
