It's a zoo in here

freedom: The capacity to exercise choice; free will:

I currently have a plethora of ideas and emotions to which I am being subjected, and have found their presence to be mostly a nuissance, like a crowded zoo- all I want to do is enjoy the sights, but the crowd ruins the moment. I can't seem to identify any real thoughts, just random fragments, and to me that is the most confusing of all- the crowd has no common flow or direction, but swirls around and mixes. I don't really know what to say, or what to talk about, as there are many foreign objects floating about, wasted mindspace I suppose. So I will not regail you with the story of a man who reaches beyond the current bounds of human knowledge to see clearly two worlds, or the man who travels a vortex of light, I cannot write on the state of my emotional well-being, or come up with witty retorts, or functionally fun, off-beat advertisements for common things.

I will say this in regards to the definition above: is it not obvious, that the limitations of a man's ability to choose is also a limitation of his freedom?

Then I pose this question: Imagine the world in perfection- what do you see? How does it function? and then can you see the flaws you have created?

Funny, how I keep writing with nothing more to say- I imagine it is more like the man passed out on driftwood who manages to float to shore.
I go through phases with my writing. Not in style, sometimes in content. The phases are not how I approach my writing, but altogether how I view the meaning or futility of my words. What can a man say that has not been said already? What does reitterating a point achieve if it has not been absorbed after the first hundred tries? So occassionaly, when I reach the point where my work is seen as absolute futility, I burn it, or throw it away until I reach that point when I become so consumed by an idea that I must write for fear of being consumed by my own ideas. I can beat back the urge to write for some time - I have been trained to handle mental anguish like the SEALs have been trained to handle physical pain- but everybody breaks at some point, all we can do is grab hold of the driftwood and hope.