i have so much to do, but my mind is wandering elsewhere.

i wonder whether the impulsion that compels the writer is actually an obsession that the writer imposes upon himself. can the state of writing and not writing be likened to being versus not being; the existential i compared to the experiential i--or a step beyond, the writing eye that is split from the written i. at this point (with all the previous words written ahead of the me i now write and write about) there is a conflict that i am consumed by. yet, have i as writer sat down before the page and inflicted this conflict upon me? i am responsible for the chosen words, therefore am i just as responsible for the complexity of my character that is defined by her choice of words? to write on a subject the writer must be mindful, therefore is the writer mental as well? as soon as i begin writing, what began as one stream of consciousness flows into branches that resemble the dispersing limbs of one standing tree, more than a body of water my thought was intended to circulate around. the one idea that impelled me to begin writing at all was this: does the writer excessively write because the courage of words provides hope of an explanation? is reverie, meditation and narrative all structures the writer uses to try and support the show and tell that is explicit in his use of text? at the met panel a man spoke to the audience explaining that by generating text, the blogger is not egotistical. rather than being labeled pretentious or self-important, the blog is a lyric to the self. it is a conversation that is not controlled. a conversation where the blogger opens himself to an audience of critics. if the writer is impelled to explain his self by telling stories of his self--and this is not egotistical, than is it evidence of an individual attempting to accept the complexities of his identity which are exposed through the thoughtfulness of writing? is the writer simply seeking to know thyself? or is it still something other: perhaps, the entertainment of words, the activity in thought and the transaction with the text gives the writer a high. but again, is entertainment not very simply an activity that allows one to expose his self and from the exchanging of words, nothing other than a transaction of what is, could have been and what will be told? if so, than during the engagement of entertainment one still is invested with the explaining of his self. maybe i am pulling at the same string, but really i think i am just trying to expose the vulnerability of writers. writers write to give clarity in sight. in order to be loved one must let himself be seen through. is that it. is the writer's body of text ironically only one confession that ends with a question--a question of whether the writer is now loved?