I'm writing to you not for lack of anyone else to write to, but rather for lack of words to write to anyone else. You're Anonymous with a capital "A", and you've a name if nothing else. Anonymous, I've been thinking a lot lately. Isn't thinking strange? Thinking is just talking to yourself, really. Your brain talking to whatever else you are. It's the voice you can never be rid of. The more you try, the more you think and the louder the voice becomes. Our heads are filled with incessant chatter. I've been thinking about thinking. I've tried to talk about thinking but human voices only seem to further complicate the matter.
I believe there's a power in thought for thought's sake. Put one unknowing person at the head of a room and then fill the room with people all thinking the same number as hard and as clear as they can; will the one person start thinking the number too? I think so, I really do. Is that crazy? Anonymous, do you think I'm crazy?
"What're you thinking?" He asks me that a lot. I ask him, too. Reread the question, "what're you thinking?" Can you remember what you were thinking before you read that? I can't. Rather I think what I should be thinking or what I'm now thinking, which is just about thinking. Sometimes it'll be quiet and then he'll ask, "what're you thinking?" and I'll remember what I was thinking but I won't say it out loud. Is that wrong? Anonymous, does that make me a liar? A liar and a thinker and writer of anonymous letters?
The process of thoughts to words is perplexing, much is lost in translation. I've re-thought the opening sentence of this letter. I'm writing to you not for lack of anyone else to write to, but rather lack of ability to write for myself. Does that make sense, Anonymous? Anonymous, will you tell me what you're thinking?
P.S. "A man's at odds to know his mind for his mind is ought he has to know it with." -Cormac McCarthy