The process of creating a collection of words reminds me of making babies :P

Ive gone far to long without writing here. It feels so wrong, like everything ive been wanting to write during the last week is pounding against the coners of my scull, screaming at the top of their lungs to escape onto paper. Like sperm cells that try so desperately to get a meaning with their exsistance, and become part of something as important as life itself, my dear thoughts just want to be "born" and released into the world where they can live happily on a piece of paper, and they will compete as hard as the sperm cells to do this.

of course i dont have the time to write down each one of my thoughts- people don't have time to have sex or give birth all day either.
i find that, like the sperm, for my thoughts to get on paper, they must get there first. When i sit down with the intention of writing, I write the thought that reaches my finger tips first. The thought doesn't need to be especially significant or incredibly interesting, i simply commence with the first one. Perhaps if i waited a bit, a better thought might reach me in its due time, yet i rarely have the ability to resist writing when first i have begun. I wonder: If sprem cells were chosen not on their speed, but on their actual quality, would we all be better people?

All i know for sure is that both sex and writing can be incredibly satisfying.