Words Appearing on a Virtual Page (Thursday, October, 2008)

My impression is that words do not exist up until the very moment my fingers start tapping on the keyboard in an interaction almost wholly out of my conscious control as if I were steering a process that runs all by itself, as if I were participating in the work of a machine of writing that in a post-structural turn of operation does not need an author anymore, as if formulations were falling on a page as leaves off the wilting trees that can think no more than the squirrels running up and down their trunks, as if the coming winter were sending its primordial chill forward into the still serene and gossamer days that come before a coldness fills the air, as if a general malaise in the global economy were finding its way into the metaphors that usually cheerful arts and letters shower upon the consuming masses that take up easy credit as easily as their pick an ice cream off a stall or up from a crate, as if the void of the virtual page I am filling were drawing me into itself with a bothersome intention of verbal fruition, as if my memories were looking for vehicles of their arrival to expression locked up in faraway domains of my unconsciousness, as if I were transforming myself into an imperfect likeness of another writing personality that visitates my efforts to put words into sentences that are at a loss for a structure that could lend them a meaning reaching beyond the need to make a transition from one world to another.