I hate it really, but it is not it that I hate but what goes into it. Thought is what goes into it and it is not that I hate thinking, but I hate having the same thoughts all the time. But the thoughts you want to write about are not the ones that you hate having, they are the ones that want to be thought. But having the thoughts that want to be thought filling your head can be even worse than having boring thoughts because they are all the harder to dismiss, there is no way to find quiet. Not that there is any way to stop the stream of conscience, the only way we can imagine what it would be like to stop thinking is by using thinking and quite frankly it seems like death, not that we can really imagine what it would be like to stop having the ability to imagine. The thoughts you want to write are the ones you love to hate having. When you are going for a walk, they are walking around your mind. When you are going to sleep, they do not go to sleep though. They haunt you, running around your mind, trying to refine themselves and grow stronger, become more vivid and developed. They do not let you sleep. They watch you. They feed on you. It is then they you realize that you cannot just let them be in your mind because they certainly do not intend on letting you be. You need to get them out. If you do not get rid of them, they will consume you. It is then that you think of how to express them to others. You work it out on paper and try to put it into words that a normal person would understand. You try to wonder what a normal person is. You know that you are not normal, and nobody you know is really normal. Everybody has something that makes them unique. Regardless you put your faith in the belief that somewhere in the collective of humanity there is some kind of median, something that we would call the normal mind even though nobody has it; as much as we might want to have it, we do not even want it. Instead you will infect them with your thoughts, those ones that are eating away at you, you make them eat away at others, it is the only way to make them stop. They are like a parasite and you were their host but now they are out there, feeding on the others, finding new hosts. These thoughts will invoke in them their own thoughts that they will want to write down, their own tales, their own stories. They will fester in their minds until they too spread them and before you know it the plague has spread far and wide, but you are not sorry, you only did what you needed to do to make them stop and you know the others are not sorry either. But then their thoughts come back to you. Then you write them again.