the continuity of imagination

It is a wonderous experience when i read a book and it sparks within me the want to write. The need to document things down ad to create. The feeling never lasts anymore.currently i feel im working too hard, i seem to be constantly seeking new knoledge. someone once described the brain as a sponge, ever filling itself up with information, the flaws are clear..what happens when this sponge gets saturated..does that mean that one can become so informed that no more information can be aquired...that a rather horrible thought that i would not like to consider currently.back to the writing, i want to do it i'm just scared that i will leave things out, will relive the experience and no be able to re-tell it quite in the same way that i imagine it. Thats the problem with writing, it innevitably fails short of the writer, it lets him down. there is only so much that words can express, and yet so many choices of words. November dosent seem to be enveloping itself with the usual sadness. it wasnt love. the south african crush wasnt love, it was simply a phase, a passing obsession. i am grateful however, one needs constant inspiration and change, new experiences and new emotions in order to protect the continuity of imagination. im rambing..i have too many ideas wondering through my head...i shall begin writing my book....this weekend....and continue to keep a rambled account of the dreary existance that i seem to be enduring.