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Fishing Line


Tonight is actually the first night that I am just typing up my diary post instead of writing it, then typing it, then carving it into stone, then remembering it verbatim, then chanting it to myself as I list away into an incandescent plane of dreams and terrors. It’s a little odd. There’s something liberating about typing instead of writing by hand. When I write by hand I become lazy for a moment until the momentum builds up. But with a computer/typewriter the energy and response that comes from typing is refreshing and fun.

There is already energy in the keys. Maybe that’s why when people sit down to start a project they are met with the reality that the symbols they click and clack on have the potential to create something more. I suppose that’s the fear in all art, in all of creation. There’s a passion that goes into your artwork, and there’s a passion that goes into creating. Even the littlest piece of art has a fragment of its creator’s soul. That’s what makes it art.

Only, at times, it can feel like those fragments get the best of us. We are imposed to believe that creation is equitable to liberation, but we fail to realize that with creation comes responsibility. As a creator we imbue something with a life of its own. And with life comes personality. Yet with personality comes nuance. It is up to us to guide the piece so the craft can continue on its journey. They journey need not be smooth, but it must go somewhere. Why else would they call it a journey?

Through writing this I have found it is much quicker to reach my 250 word count. Indeed, it is much easier to surpass it. I would not write this much in a notebook for I am lazy. But, I have also found it is a good way to let my thoughts wander outward in a quick way. I am letting the fishing line spool out simply to admire the sound.

Until later, fishies.

Save the whales—they all owe me money



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