DATALOG:

113009: Entry 1

I feel full. Not in the sense of nutrient, in fact, completely unrelated to consummation. My mind is full. Cranial congestion, if you will. The inability to proficiently express one’s ideas and emotions to the extent where a build up occurs. Surely some sort of intellectual residue is clogging my articulation arteries, and my cognitive cholesterol levels are at an all time high. I tried my hand at drawing, trying to channel the creative flow out of my fingers, much to no avail. Other methods have proven completely useless, as little by little my thoughts trickle out while the dam of monumental epiphanies stacks up higher and higher nearly water-tight. Between these massive ideas, piled one by one and mashed together, small cracks of daylight are seen, allowing only the most simple and instinctual thoughts to spill out in to the foreground of my functional brain.

Expression is what I lack, and a means to express it. The frustration of not being able to pull the cord on the gigantic self-inflatable genius that is lying dormant and limp in my consciousness is unbearable.

Gotta lose this subconscious weight on my soul.