Thought in progress

I want to write nearly every experience, each tantalizing thought and no one will ever read, no one will ever know the passion, the high, I get out of things over looked. The inspiration that comes from every where and I am unable to capture it fast enough to cleans my mind in a way that organizes my thoughts. If this were to happen my conchiousness would be filled and all my stories complete with characters known as though they were real humen beings living their lives after the dry pages had ended. The ink bleeds and faids into whispers of a memory if only to grant entertainment for the moment. My thoughts trickling on to each page, slowly, for my hand cannot keep pace of my thought. Even hitting the keys rapidly tap tapping, slowes my thought so I may repeat over and over in my mind until it is on the page or written in binary code hidden from the world until one day possibly it becomes formulated, printed, sold to the readers of the world who are by far a dying bread, a wondrous talent, yet dying. They are replaced with those of a narrow thought, thinking only of this moment and what is best for themselves, cought up in an age where books and humen contact are becoming or is already, obsolete. Words flowing, eyes capturing, and the mind, storing all it can in a seemingly random way.
-JamieLynn oct, 26 2011