Looking into myself, I find there must be various identities/personalities that are always speaking something. "I", this one who is writing this, am only picking up one of them. In a way, "I" don't have anything to write as any important theme but only try to become a good megaphone for them. Or... I might have to write this from "their" viewpoint. "They" try to speak their chaotic, "bloody" fresh opinions through me as a messenger (I admit that at least one of them must be really, very very "evilly black" like obsidian.)
This morning, even though I wanted to do nothing but only stay in bed, the outside became so lighter that I couldn't sleep again. Also, I could feel that horrible ideas started becoming so bigger within my head that I felt it would almost "explode". Therefore I went out, but as you might have learned, this rural town has no great place for me. So, I went to a library and borrowed some books (Octavio Pas's books and Paul Valéry's prose.) After having lunch and taking a nap, I just spent my free time by "zapping" various books.
Although I couldn't find out that it has been translated into English, one of these books, Octavio Pas's "¿Águila o sol?" [オクタビオ・パス『鷲か太陽か?』] attracted me so much. It's a collection of Pas's early prose works, which literally "tempts" me to write my prose without having/making any brainy tactics. After reading that, I tried to listen to the inner chattering voices of plenty of other personalities of mine.
I can't imagine how you think this by reading these journals... But in a way, I have to admit that I am a very chaotic person who has always been "tortured" by those voices during this life. Reflecting on my life (actually I just look at my messed room,) I find out that the issues I have had during this life are not single/simple ones. Yesterday I thought about Haruki Murakami, but today I think about Fernando Pessoa, etc.
That fact tells me that I have no talent to become a novelist who must keep on facing/thinking only one theme. I just try to write fragmental/diverse ideas as they suggest to do so like a kind of action painting. I can't see whether my journals as my "graffiti" have any value or any meaning for you to enjoy. But I can't stop writing... like Kafka or Pessoa had kept on doing so.
