I’ve decided that writing is like splatter-painting. There’s a mildly desperate attempt to line the paint splats up in some semblance of order, in hopes that someone can make sense of the movement of the color blobs.
I love splatter-painting, and prefer the messy, chaotic, spontaneous, colorful form of this expression.
And I’ve decided that on one hand, writing is the same; it is chaotic and messy, and trying to bring order to the splats of color in my mind is nerve-wrenching. But on the other hand, there is beauty in all of this: words organically fizz off my finger-tips, and even if they don’t make sense, it’s about the act of spontaneously throwing them out there… with hopes that somewhere, somehow, someone will catch them.
So, I’d like to make a toast: here’s to those moments of spontaneously splatter-painted words, in hopes that they mean something to you.