A mystery

Everyday My creative subconscious feeds my conscious ideas to expand upon. Like many I am faces with a sort of indecisive play ground. The options at which I can express these ideas are plentiful. With the many options the act of choosing which is sometimes overwhelming.

Sometimes I find that the medium of expression is clear and easy to act upon. Which makes expressing the ideas effortless and effective.

The other times when I am stuck between the many options such as text format, video creation, facebook posts, instagram, reddit, art, etc..

As then I am thinking about the audience at which I am expressing to. These problems can be exhilarating or debilitating.

Creation is a process for me that has the mental to fulfill the task at which I have chosen. It also involves the right energy. Something else that is required is solitude. I find that I am the most creative and find my zone where time is not an object when I am alone.

The types of creation that I bounce around is plentiful also, as there is a few things I can choose to build upon. A few can be my detailing business I created from scratch and put all the work into growing it, literally ALL of the work outside of the labor detailing the cars.

Another type is a law based youtube channel I have created which has several hundred videos uploaded to it, majority are protected by common law copyright.

Anyway I have deleted my social media from my phone, being that I noticed I am spending too much time and developing a screen dependency..

Anyway also today is Christmas day without my kids.. I have a different view for holidays and such..

The year is about to end, as i am subjected to the mass followings beliefs as well. Its sorta hard to fully escape every and all ideas created by others, if achieved you become unrelateable and end up like jesus.

I hope you have many blessings this coming year, one after the other,

Thanks for being here..

A poem I had created-

I carry a line to the trees

As they speak to me

I sleep amongst the trees

Singing with the wind

I dream until i am cut

Not a sound can be said – tangiblethomas(c)

Categories writing

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