It has been a few days but over the past few days I have been mulling over some thoughts in my head. It is amazing how private ones thoughts really are. With the invention of the Internet and even before then there has been a way to record thoughts in a forum that was public. Before that there was a journal and even before than writings on cave walls. One of the things that amazes me is still what you write down even if it will not get read how censored do you make it. How far does your mind go to prevent everything from spilling out. Even if there was no censor and what you could write down was completely everything sometimes thoughts or dreams do not translate into words. So often I wish I could just scream out everything in my mind that my hands fail to communicate in writing. My mind does not know a language. It does not understand grammar. It is a complex and flowing avalanche that rushed down the mountainside of my psyche until it finally settles into a valley. From there it settles and remains a motionless sculpture long since lost the edge or power it had while it was moving. I do not know the English language. I cannot apply such to the rushing past of words, feelings, thoughts, and sounds. How can my hands using a limited form of communication dare to translate this idea fully. So I must censor. I must filter it out or try to sift through what has settled and pull the picture back out of it. Its either attempt to translate in the mists of the powerful phenomenon. I try so hard but fail so much. Sometimes I think I have achieved something closer but as I step back and remember the scene how it was when it was roaring down the side of my psyche I understand I translated it poorly. Like a child trying to draw a picture of his house I am a child trying to write down a life changing moment and all I have are such simple tools.