Chaotivity

I came up with a new word a few moments ago. Chaotivity. Chaotivity is the creativity that is often manifested from chaos. Like, how people say the most creative (or ingenious) people keep a messy desk or room or work area. Or when you write the best paper you've ever written at about 3a the morning it's due, music's playing, tv's on, and you're surfing the net. Something like that. I think if I wrote a contemporary book, like one of those books about writing by people who have written books that Christa used to always read from, it'd be called Chaotivity. And it wouldn't demean randomness, clutter, or mess because sometimes the best things are created from chaos. At least, for me.

With that said, here's my "chaotive" (I dunno.. still working on it) post. Which is basically a bunch of random, un-related, unfinished creative bursts that I've thought about while watching tv, or hearing a song on the radio, or while I was supposed to be doing something else:

Could be Sleeping, Should be Writing

Could be sleeping,
should be writing
Lay your head down,
there’s no more fighting
Dance with the sugar plum faeries
You’ll find them quite inviting
Forget your need for literature
It’s all too exciting
Just sit back, relax,
Feel your body unwinding
Follow the second star,
now's the perfect timing

Small Talk

I had a chat with God one day
on my roof after church on Sunday
The sun was high and wind was cool
...
We talked for hours,
me and Him,
catching up like old friends

Untitled

"Who am I? A question I've asked myself many times, each time getting a different answer. I'm a daughter, a sister, a friend, a bitch, an idiot, a wreck, a believer, a dreamer, a writer, a giver, a taker, and a trouble-maker.

"What do I want to become? Now, that's a bit harder. There's so much I want to see, so much in this world to do and feel. I want to experience things from other cultures, learn from other people, appreciate it all.

"Excuse me? You wanna repeat that? What don't I want to be?"

She thought for a moment, wanting a truly honest answer in order to get her $80 an hour worth of session from this. Besides, the man with the notepad wasn't too pretentious or invasive with his questions. He was only doing his job. After all, she had come on her free will. She looked down, still thinking. There was a watch covering the scar on her right wrist, a thick plastic bracelet on her left arm for the same purpose. That, she wasn't ready to discuss. Though, somehow, she felt as if the "good doctor" already knew about her failed attempts.

"I-I... I don't know. I've never thought about it. I don't want to be.. here. I don't want to be the same. I don't want to be a... nother. Just another nameless face in the crowd, just another worker punching the clock, another dreamer who has never achieved anything, another wanna-be, another would-be, another could-be. Does that make any sense?"

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.