My opinion about spontaniety

"I am the weirdest person you'll ever meet."
I just looked at her. She didn't know I was the real thing.
"My writing is...scary. (Chuckles.) Sometimes I question my own sanity."
I didn't question mine. I both knew I was and wasn't crazy at the same time. Many times I did crazy things--heinous things--but I was in control of myself when I did them.
She shoved a notebook into my chest. "Here," she said, looking down. I heard a few more words come out of her, too, which I'm not even sure she knew she was saying: "Take it, look at it. It probably isn't much, but, this represents who I am--take it or leave it."
We made eye contact and I looked down at what she had written. This is the trainwreck of words I then read:

He sees me
But I don't see him
I see him and imagine
Killing him
Biting his neck as the vampire
As he kisses me
A chandelier shatters

"Um, interesting. Do you...imagine doing this to some guy?"
"No, I was just, yaknow, sitting around, and the thought just sorta came to me." She was shaking her head around and opening her eyes wide whenever she thought she said something crazy. "The last line was, yaknow, just something that came afterwards. I liked the alliteration of those words. They sorta stuck out to me, yaknow."
"Hm, yeah, yeah," I said aimlessly. "I was um, wondering about that."
"You know, what's really scary is I've thought that I could be crazy enough to do something like this!" Her eyes were as big as golfballs.
"Hm, yeah," I said. "You seem pretty crazy." We were friends, so I could talk like that to her.
"Yeah, yaknow, that's me!" With a jump of the eyebrows she turned and walked off.
Wow, wow, wow. If she knew what I do, she'd stop entertaining the idea of being crazy. I guess it helped her confidence, behaving like she did. Accepting that you're crazy lowers expectations of your social abilities, so when you're rejected in some way, it won't hurt so bad. But what spontaneous crap that confidence had caused her to write! I don't blow a horn and announce my personality over a megaphone. I'm not always spontaneous, either. Always I have to choose to write, even when inspired. My muscles don't move on their own. This girl was not inspired--she was infected. People think spontaniety is the wellspring of genius. Not true. Well, of course, I've been trying to discover myself what is genius; what is great. However, I know we don't gain an avenue by writing a bunch of nonsense. Ideas are out there, and--in my personal, individual, singular opinion--writers should strive to write out these ideas as best they can. These "Spontaneous me" fanatics aren't on the right track. If there is no system or control of their expression, how will they then communicate?
I'm the real thing. I write from a conviction that there is something to be written about. It isn't just something inside you, waiting to be spoken by a moment of supposed inspiration. Sorry for not explaining the part about my heinous acts. I will not go into that--so again, sorry--for mentioning it.

(note: this isn't necessarily me talking, even though I've obviously infused some strong opinions, as the title of this post suggests. This narrative is fictional.)