why have i deluded myself into thinking i lofted above such tasks? typing is all well and all fine, but my mind begs for writing when thoughts cavalcade inside my head and need marshalling into formation before they can become tangible, understood, memorable, contextualized.
i need the delay between hand and mind, the primal infusion of me into the words. the knowledge that the paper has been irreversibly altered by my impressioning upon it. the connection between mind and keyboard is too immediate, my fingers fly too quickly over these buttons, unfiltered, unrestrained.
equal right for all thought. i have a mind that whirs and whirs and whirs and so much is lost in the noise of itself. it’s okay to admit that i need tools, need channels, am not perfect, am not in ironclad control of the population growth inside my head. organization is good, slows my flitting from thought to thought to other thought to tangent to what were we talking about? say that agin, i got lost in something entirely irrelevant and now you think i wasn’t listening in the first place. bullet points. periods. waiting to guide the pen through loops and peaks and valleys until we’re all in agreement as far as what’s coming out and why i ought to remember.