Why it rains in water

Why it rains _reasons to shower

I know I’m so crazy for this, i know it’s 3 am and I’m so close to sleep, that I need to have done this hours ago before I lost real important ideas … but I told myself I had to so I’ll do it. At least for something to look on later.

| a line moves in place

I’m seeing brief repetitions of undulating curves like )))) these guys.

I keep keeping – y’know, like those people who transcribe, stenographers?, coming from intended vocality- and already always messing up Bc vocality isn’t something you say out loud. Writing

I really can’t. The frame ..iit’s so full not enough but ok. I need a way to type without wanting to throw up. I neeed one letter to not be a [backspace]

)

Y know that one Mitski lyrics? One day I’ll wake up and….so i say, one day I’ll wake up and nothing will have been saiid to have been written down. This is interesting: so Ben Lerner says when you recall something the thing is destroyed. Concomitantly there’s another pretentious probably writer quote that says remembering is infinitely more a psychotic process than forgetting – cue alternative theories of sanity and the enlightened manic – so. What happens when the remembered process of writing is discarded? Do things infinitely exist – counter to the fuckin’ aspirations for immortality so many dumb and human writers want – in time because they’re not recalled/written about? And then, for the process of writing…it’s so juicy what this (almost) demands/breaks new ground. NOt new grounds but like a whole hole through an invisible wall – writing unrelated to recollection – I’m going backwards! It’s lovely to write and end up in the same place you started. It’s like hopping in a car (oof…bad simile) but it’s like hopping in a car and just…simulating travel.

I’m still thinking about the vocality thing. What I meant to say up there was me “saying” all these things that I’m writing, not saying, out loud, but just in my head. And then I started thinking about the symbols and the slippery slippery wall b/w drawing and writing and just….the full psychic weight of …like for example the letter “W”…and like …how much of writing is just distilling. From what…is ineffable. It grips me with so much terror and unproductive worry to consider words, letters, lines in …….. the way i have for periods of writer’s block. Writer’s block isn’t the drought of ideas, it’s the paralyzing recognition of their sublimity … for me. SO hitting keys???? Looking at the way whatever these things are doing to the things next to them. It’s like playing with dirt in god/the universe/idealism’s ..office.

Then there’s the consideration of other people reading your shit. It goes up and around and then wraps under .- the direction of intent is hidden underneath your standoffish consideration of sublimity. It consults form and then …

This is out of place. Chronology? one after another after another letter letter letter. Muscle recognition and backspace and revision and trying to understand what flows underneath and not disrupt as Much as possible while fundamentally really fucking things up

What will any of this mean in the morning. I came here to sit down and figure out shit. This isn’t ..it.

Why it rains in water

Here i am putting myself at the very beginning of written communication. I am going backwards as fast and hard as I can. I’ll be here. Like.

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