The epitome of the human realm is to be stuck in a huge traffic jam of discursive thought. — Chogyam Trungpa

How odd I can have all this inside me and to you it’s just words.

Sometimes in a nervous frenzy I just fling words as if I were flinging mud at a wall. Blurt out, heave out, babble out something — anything — as a first draft.

My voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach, with the twirl of my tongue I encompass words and volumes of words

Words', he said, 'is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life. So you must simply try to be patient and stop squibbling. As I am telling you before, I know exactly what words I am wanting to say, but somehow or other they is always getting squiff-squiddled around.

Words, words, words.

There are moments when mental overload can render words impossible.

Sometimes when I'm talking, my words can't keep up with my thoughts. I wonder why we think faster than we speak. Probably so we can think twice.

Now sometimes words can serve me well
Sometimes words can go to hell
For all that they do

There is a time for many words, and there is also a time for sleep.

My brain hums with scraps of poetry and madness.

"Words," he said, "is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life."

I am a dreamer of words, of written words. I think I am reading; a word stops me. I leave the page. The syllables of the word begin to move around. Stressed accents begin to invert. The word abandons its meaning like an overload which is too heavy and prevents dreaming. Then words take on other meanings as if they had the right to be young. And the words wander away, looking in the nooks and crannies of vocabulary for new company, bad company.

My mind is a raging torrent, flooded with rivulets of thought cascading into a waterfall of creative alternatives.