I am blank. Blank with nothingness, like an empty canvas, dripping with ideas in the form of paint. Sloppy, thick ideas, dripping off of me. Nothing could be more painful than the thought of blankness, your mind full of scary nothing. Please, give me ideas. Let them flourish, let your ideas be like the Picasso to my empty mind. Although I have prayed, nothing works.
I have an idea. Nothing works. I mean, if I had not been blank, I would have had nothing to talk about. It seems impossible, improbable... blankness is normal. And nothing is normal, so it loops. Blankness is nothing, and nothing works. So, the blackness, the large nothingness, fills your brain. It works it away until you have raw, plain ideas that could create an empire or bring one to it's knees.
So here it is. Instead of a blank page, I have filled it with words. This is my idea. Write, draw, even if it makes you sad or angry, till you have something. Because, before, you had blankness. Now, you have something, the raw idea that rose from the nothingness before.
I am Josie. I am nothingness, blankness, just an entity made of stardust and wishes and blankness and nothingness. My life is pointless, but in a freakish, blank way. I am nothing, but nothing is not normal. What I'm saying is, you are everything compared to me. In our building block brains, we consider ourselves superior. I believe, contrary to what we are programmed to by our brains, that I am not what I think I am.
I'm obsessed with silence, blankness and nothing at all. You could say that I am totally insane, but let's be real; the is the most boring article you have ever read.