Posting for the Sake of Posting

I love posting things such that there be things posted. Henceforth, I go forth and post hence. Yesterday was amazing, garage-wise, at the least. The landscaping surrounding The Hangar improved tremendously in that a year's worth of brush and branches was removed by a mere two trailer loads. In so doing, aesthetically speaking, the backyard in which I reside looks almost like a front. You read that right. Believe it or do not believe it. As a man's clothes make him look handsome, so a car-hole's yard makes it look like the Cadillac Garage of garages. Obviously, I exaggerate the truth to make it less true as no less than three dead trees remain adjacent to the newly beautified yard area. Also, it is the autumn of our discontent, and any flora is dormant to say the most. However, leaps and bounds describe the progress being made in the issue of yard beautification. Also, an old clothesline post.

Posting because I want to is constantly fighting with not posting because I do not want to. The internal struggle will continue until it ends, or until I post half-truths and riddles. This web log continues to be an outlet through which I can selectively bottle things up. I feel that I have already said too much, yet less than I want to. Au revoir for now.

Content

This post is filled with content. This is necessary to necessitate a post. Such as it is, this post is happy, joyful, enthused, and content. This post is hopeful (although not necessarily) that subsequent posts will be so contentful. Space is left at the end of this post to leave room for the next posts. Not all content will fill this post. Some content will fill the next post and the posts after that. There may be repetition of content from one post to the next. This is how it is with content. A bucket of water can handle more water without overflowing, but is currently overjoyed with its current level. As I write much and say very little, I am not at all bothered by the space growing full or the time growing short. Each word is treasured as if it is the last drop to be drunk.

However, there is much more to drink. The bucket is not near full. Time is long. The sentence is still incomplete. The thought has yet to be expounded upon. The content is content, but looks forward to content content continuously.

Typer's Block

It is so easy to write, to let fingers fly and form phrases fomenting feelings (for example.) The problem is restraint. It is analogous to hearing a new song and already knowing all the lyrics: They rhyme, they flow with the melody, and I could have written that. The hardest thing in a dialogue with one's self is moderation. How do we find a happy medium (my nickname in college)? I have already said too much because I like the sight of my own voice.

Editing is even harder: How do I dare pull back or alter (amend) what I have just put forth (out there)? I change the meanings of my thoughts, then I change them back. I change the order to suit my wiles. I wile my changes to suit the order. I seek to turn my ramblings into a cogent argument against that which I am in favor of. Confrontation is more legible than the truth. I agree with all, and I oppose everything. There is a freedom in misusing words. Writing poorly means I am smarter than you, because I did it on propose.

Explanation or motivation of or for a composition (with a lower-case c) must accompany the piece (with a small p) lest the reader (and the writer) be left with a furrowed brow (not such a bad thing).