People are this mystery to me. I don’t know what drives them. They’re like this huge black box, and if you observe them for long enough, I think I might come to some sort of understanding. They’re this huge mound of flesh with a will; a walking collection of water, bone, meat, sinew and impurities.

I have this set of feelings and desires. From life, I want this and that. Some things, I pay no attention to. Other things are… vital. And I try to think “if I feel this way about that, then maybe that person feels that way about this”. Humans are a puzzle, and I want to solve the puzzle. I think that if I solve the puzzle, even if it’s just the easy bit up in the top right corner, I’ll have some sort of insight.

That insight can be used in my books, and then maybe my books will amount to something more than ‘Boy met boy, or girl, and killed the Dragon’. Maybe my writing will matter, to someone, at some point. Maybe?

I think that the most important thing, to me, is not to get bogged down. To really question everything. Not really because of some emotional need to be quirky and separate that merely mask a deep longing to be seen and heard by others.

Understanding requires that I don’t prejudge. I should stay away from isms, and I should keep an open mind. Not automatically sort people. And try to observe people that my instinct tells me to not bother with.

So, sometimes I associate with people I don’t like. I sit there like a big toad and observe, and try to puzzle out what moves behind the eyes. Petulance, cruelty, anger, love, resentment, glee, joy, or something else.

Sometimes I get it immediately, and I can try and predict the effect instead of identifying the cause. Other times, I just don’t understand the cause, and therefore have no clue about what effect might come.

Is this strange? It’s like I have this Petri dish that I take out of the incubator sometimes, and I check if the mould spores have multiplied or starved. I can only do it for so long until I have to get away, because being around negative people is really tiresome. There’s always an edge to the observation, a danger.

I think I started doing this back during the time I was bullied. If I observe people, and try to read them, then I can predict them. It never worked then, but I haven’t given up hope that one day it will work, despite. If I sit with my back against the wall, near a door, and read people then I can run if things go bad. Is that the reason why I still do it? Down at the bottom? Where the fears and dreads live? Where my bully and his mates still taunt around me?

Maybe it’s all just a mirror. You know, maybe I use the Petri dish not to understand others, but to understand myself. Sometimes I have no clue what drives me. I get a feeling, I act, and then my brains catch up and shout questions about why I went and did something. But that feeling is just this blob of something, and I don’t have a name for it. And since I don’t have a name for it, I can’t define it. Without definition, there can be no understanding.

This rambling post was brought to you from a combination of three things: being awake to 3 am in the morning reading, a reply on a forum elsewhere, two dead girls in Texas, and a general sense that I don’t know shit about anything. 

I so want to understand things. If I understand things, then maybe I’ll be smarter about other things.