I want to write poetry. I always have. Have I said this before? There’s gotta be some side to the human mind that drives this. We’re emotional beings, right? Emotional beings have sudden surges of thinking that drives them to to do things, amongst other things. Why can’t writing poetry be one of them?
Well, I think that’s justification enough.
Out of this simple statement that I was trying to make, my mind follows a couple of other threads…
* the need to classify anything you encounter.
* the urge to justify the classification and stand behind it
So, as I am writing about my need to write poetry, I am simultaneously trying to classify that need. I am profiling myself based on classes of human behaviour that I have already created in my mind due to my observance of past experiences.
What is this need?
Is this driven by some strange figment of evolution in my genes? survivability? Will I have more chances of surviving because of the boxes of readily retrievable boxes of information that I have stowed away in my mind? like a database?
Is this because of the over abundance of information that I am bombarded with every day of my life? the billboard ads that I see when I drive to work, the news on tv, the gossip about worldwide events, the authoritarian conspiracies I hear from friends and family?
Is this just a tangent that I am following? a tangent that our resilient minds, I am convinced it is, creates out of — boredom? necessity?
There’s a whole lot of questions I have. None of them lead anywhere, not yet. But our need to classify things continues, persistently.
Just one more facet on the workings of our minds.