You know, you want to show something other worldly, something abstract but with a concrete presence. It needs to excite and expand your mind, even if only for a couple of minutes, but it cannot be about some relationship never happened or gone bad. It's not unheard of, this mental longing for a rhythmic word jungle, hyper associations or, I dunno, dimensional musings. It has been achieved but not under the scrutiny you place upon it. It's an endevour organic, naturally devised and hopelessly untenable when forced.
In conversation with a fellow contributor we agreed writing is 100% a mental exorcise. The mind, not the fingers, dealt favours to the page and allowed the body comfort in sleep, to rest peacefully without turning and grumbling. It could be deduced that a body trained in expecting product will admonish the mind with a sub-conscious over-clocked by the stomach. But, neither here nor there, the point remains that the mind can write without the hands ever having written. In fact, the hands, the arms, the shoulders and neck, so on, only filter the signal, the purest energy, and cripple the voice inside.
Having left this blog for nothing, and thinking little of it's carcass, I still considered writing. When I awoke, just as I leaped into bed or even during a pause I would think about the mistakes I produced or those goals I have yet to achieve. It was inevitable I would come back but a premium was never placed on when. I would never consider myself a writer, having neither the training nor the ability, I guess, to write something of length, but I managed to return and learn something again on how to talk in one's mind with clarity and exception.
And so, this post is such, a strike for confidence and gesture towards a mental conditioning. I have been brisk to question but try to hasten now in thought, to complete ideas and run to the next. It shouldn't be my minds rank to fall behind imagined readers expectations and standards high and driven higher. It is the mind to speak for itself and be allowed to do so. The hands may complain and pick at teeth, the arms stretch, the shoulders sag and the neck loll, but the page should continue to fill either with ink or with persistent imagination. It should not be for lack of paper that one doesn't write, for it can happen on the back of ...