Friday, May 05, 2006


i'm a silverfish. I eat books
throw me the last bit of meaning:

tempt your less rational side out to play
I was guided by the thoughts in my head
I'm observing the work coming in to be

it's strange, the more I pay attention to what I'm writing, the less I'm able to guide what I'm writing about

I wonder how I can type faster that I can know what I'm thinking about typing... it's as if I'm a channel through which ideas come.

this entire bit has been channeled, I'm not actually thinking about what I've been writing about, so it comes as some shock to read what I've written and to notice that I've been writing about thinking coherently about what I write as I write it.

Having conversations with the sentances that are self-aware is one of the stranger parts of being a writer.

If a confident and self-aware sentance knew I was onto it, would it try to hide?

that's all tangential. or transcendental. or something. I'm not that certain what to make of all this, bytes, bits, but whatever.. I'm just here for the intertextuality of the whole thing. memetic warfare from the comfort of the battleground. I submerge. I go deep. eat glue. devour bindings.

wuff wuff,


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