The Insomniac told me the other day that when he writes, he hears four voices in his head: one picks apart his technicality and grammar, one complains about his use of metaphor, one sounds doubtful and questions whether he really wants to be that abstract, because an audience won't get it...and one is mine, telling him to write whatever the fuck he wants to.

.

That's right. 

I'm the voice of writing anarchy. The cursing voice of writing anarchy, no less. I hadn't even realized it was a life goal until I was informed I had achieved it. Well, in the mind of the Insomniac anyway, which is perhaps the one place where it is needed. The Insomniac gets beat up a bit in class, because his writing is weird and absurd and abstract as hell. I love it, mind you. I started talking to the boy because I loved his his mode of expression. I suspect he needs a voice in the back of his head telling the other voices to shag off, if only so that his particular way of doing what he does has some chance at survival. 

More later, maybe.