Confession: talking to strangers[revealing journal entry]

in #journal10 years ago (edited)

One of my favorite things to do is sit in coffee shops, do my work, and talk to the people. I never know what will come out of those little conversations. Often nothing. But sometimes I quit my job because of a conversation with a stranger.

   I realized that when I connect with someone it is because they enliven something that was dead in me, soil to a seed. No one ever gives you anything, they just draw it from you. Water from the well. 

    So in every strangers voice I hear the sound of a thought I once rejected or dismissed. The chorus of misfit words, they sound so much more sensible from the throat of someone else.

    I struggle to recognize the voice inside my head. I hear it so often, the constant yammer of my beehive of a mind, that I tend to be unaware of it.

    I realized that it is imperative that I listen to the muse the first time she calls. She is not kind like mother and demands to be listened to when she speaks. She will just let you wait until you happen to hear her voice echo in the mouth of a stranger. If it is true that to trust ones own thought is genius, then I am quite a fool.

    I can never quite seem to say what I think, it is always what I thought by the time I say it. There is always some new development like a 24 hour news station dredging up whatever bullshit is at the bottom of the barrel to keep the broadcast rolling in the twilight hours.

    My voice torments me because I don't listen. Stop talking and listen for one time in your fucking life. Stop filling the air with noise, cut the five dollar words and take a mental breath. There is nothing to run from, just listen.



Hello Steemit! My name is Jonathan Turnick

I am a writer and poet based in the Pacific Northwest of the United States

This is the place to access all of my work, I post my latest and greatest here first! I love sharing with the vibrant community here!

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The Memoirs Project:

Memoirs: The furniture store or it's not hard to assume your life away

Memoirs: Moving to Spokane or When every day is a Season Finale

Memoirs: Losing all my money was worth every penny

Memoirs: Two Fake British Girls and a Real Russian, No ice...

Memoirs: How Molly changed my life

Memoirs: Red Rose in a Porcelain Vase


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Butcher Block Block

Across the pale horizon

Whispered in Heartbeats

Golden Wings: An angel and her demons


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