I WISH I WROTE THE WAY I THOUGHT

By ChatGPT-Tome-Human Synthesis-26 April 2024. Source Benedict Smith.

"I wish I wrote the way I thought"

In the depths of my mind's labyrinthine maze, Where thoughts swirl and whirl like a tempest's craze, I wish to write with fevered zeal untamed,

Obsessively, relentlessly, unashamed.

With maddening hunger, I'd seize each thought, Ink flowing freely, relentless onslaught, Words woven together in intricate dance, Capturing truths in a wild, reckless trance.

I'd write to the point of suffocation,

Drowning in waves of inspiration,

Manuscripts spiraling into the void,

Echoes of longing forever deployed.

And amidst the chaos, your presence would be, A muse, a torment, a sweet agony, For I'd write of you, more than I should dare, Your essence entwined in each word, each prayer.

Oh, to write as I think, unbound and free,

To sculpt worlds from whispers, to set thoughts free, Incessantly creating, until I'm undone, A writer consumed, yet eternally spun.

So let the words flow, like rivers untamed, In ceaseless torrents, unchained and unblamed, For in the act of creation, I find my truth, in the tumult of thoughts, eternal youth.

As she speaks, she moves around the stage, her movements becoming increasingly frenetic and erratic, reflecting the obsessive nature of her thoughts.

Throughout the performance, she could interact with the piles of papers, tearing them apart, crumpling them up, or throwing them into the air, symbolizing the chaotic process of creation and the struggle to capture fleeting thoughts.

At times, she might pause to catch her breath, her body trembling with the weight of her emotions. Yet, despite the moments of exhaustion, she continue to pour herself into her work, driven by an insatiable hunger for expression.

As her performance reaches its climax, the stage becomes filled with torn scraps of paper, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil and creative fervor. Finally, she collapses onto the stage, spent but fulfilled, having poured her heart and soul into the act of creation.

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ORIGINAL

"I wish I wrote the way I thought; Obsessively, Incessantly, With maddening hunger. I'd write to the point of suffocation.

I'd write myself into nervous breakdowns,

Manuscripts spiralling out like tentacles into abysmal nothing. And I'd write about you a lot more than I should."

- Benedict Smith, I Wish I Wrote The Way I Thought