I'll try something different for a change. Nothing to piss people off or whine for any attention. I won't write in the sense that I reveal my life, though I will be revealing myself for those that remain a captive audience.

I know people have already written about windows. Yes, of all things I'm going to discuss windows. Why? Because I can. But it's not really the window I want to focus on. Nor will I mention the whole "window of the soul" because you know how much you hear that crap. Not that it's crap, it's just that anything that's to be used by someone else's creativity, that one thing they contribute to the world, after that it's just used again. Over and over millions of times til it's a trite piece of garbage. Then the mind thirsts for something NEW. Something entirely your own that has never been the forefront of anyone else's mind.

Have you ever really looked through the window? To look, but not see, yet you do see...clear as the sun in the sky... another trite piece of garbage.

That's what bugs me about writing. Sometimes I want to mention something SO bad, to write something so bad but to find it's been influenced by something else. You don't know how bothersome it is to not have a single creative thought of your own. Not when it counts atleast. But sometimes it's there, however fleeting. But it's like that thought doesn't want to be saved. You lose it in a flash, while trying to grasp a pencil and record it or attempting to store it for later.

But that's not what I wanted to write about. When you look out the window, you see your life. The surroundings representing your barriers. While driving around here you don't want to look because you've seen it all before. The oppressing landscape. All oppression whether in the contractors on the side of the road or the signs that indicate another farm has been sold.

But then you look out and realize this is the world. All of it, however infinite. You could look out the window for miles and see what you desire.

Ahh crap. Another one. I swear I don't know what to do myself. God, sometimes it's so frustrating. Some things are so subjective with talent. Any person can be credited for a talent they have, or some are famed for no talent!

What about those that are never found? Those that are never discovered, their thoughts left to rot away with their dreams. In this world who knows talent? Artists are dead before they become infamous. For all those in the major leagues there's an athelete that strugged so hard, went through so much pain to get that far, yet he never makes that final stretch.

And what do we do with these people? We can hardly recognize them because there are too many. Every living person in this world has their little part to offer.

But I'm going on again with what everyone already knows. Don't you just hate that? EVERYTHING of mine is influenced by something else and you don't know how hard I'm trying to make my writing not sound cliche.

But every person in this world finds it to be something different.

This world is based on nothing more than our perception.

But again, a little fact everyone knows.