[Afternoon Freewrite]

I think that there is something about writing that is good.  I think that there is something about creating that is wonderful.  I think that I am in love with the sound and feel of my words.  Words rubbing up against skin like cats, words scraping away at skin like sandpaper.  Words running the length of their encounter down your spine.  Words have the power to evoke.  Thoughts feelings emotions.  Evokation.  Evocation.  Evoke emotion.

Invoke.  Invoker.  What does it take to invoke things of meaning?  Or to invoke things of spiritual meaning?  What does it take to invoke life?  To invoke spirits?  To invoke....  I want to invoke something.  Something of meaning.  I want to invoke life.  I want to be invoked by life.  I want to go someplace.  I want to advance.  I want to find me.  I want to win me.  I want to go through me.  I want to become.  I want to find life.  I want to see things.  I want to be.  Can you see the thoughts of self within life?  Can you see the focus of self?

I you.  There is a certain dichotomy there.  There is a certain division.  I need to find it.  I need to acknowledge it.  I need to find out how to use it.  I want to find the certain dichotomy of I you.  Define what I you is.  I want to see and use I-you.  I you is how I write.  Perhaps I should utilize it more fully.  I you.  You do this.  I do that.  We are separate are we not?  Always separate, always drifting.  Never whole.  Or perhaps that’s just me.  I am never whole.  Because I am always apart from you.  There is never a we.  There is no we.  Only I-you.  And so?  So what is there that I should know from this?

That I-you is different there is nothing to help us anymore.  Go forth.  Go forth.  Go forth.  I am looking for something.  Are you looking for something?  What are you looking for?  What are we looking for?  What is to be looked for?  What is to be sought?  What sense is there to be found here.  There.  Within anything?  Is there something of goodness to be found?  Is goodness to be found?  What are we finding?  Is there something to be finding?  I find what?  I found what?  What is there that is found?  Find what?  Find What?  Find What?

I continue to write and continue to think and continue to breathe.  Breath is life.  It is the essence of telling a living thing from a non-living thing.  Among our larger species.  People breathe as long as they live.  Animals breathe.  Plants breathe after a fashion.  Do other things breathe?  Do things with fans breathe?  Do amoebas breathe?  What is alive and what is not alive?  What breathes?

I continue to breathe.  Breath is life.  Is breath not life?  What is there?  I breathe.  I breathe.  What breath?  What breath do we breathe?  What breath do you breathe?  What breath do I breathe?  What is breath?  What breath makes sense?  Is there sense in breathing?

I am walking through life.  I am walking over and above and around and through and through and seeing and breathing and suddenly I find myself out where there is nothing left.  I see that there is a lot of guilt in America.  There is guilt.  There is guilt.  Can you see guilt?  Guilt exists within so much.  Can you see guilt?  Guilt.  Why is it American to feel guilt?

I am walking through life.  I am walking through fields where no one can see.  Is it because we crawl around on our hands and knees attempting to examine grains of sand instead of walking upright and looking at the world in its wholeness?  Or is it because we see the forest without the trees?  Is it the part or the whole that we fail to see?  And there’s that we again.  Is it really you that I ask about?  Or me?  Am I asking if you see parts or wholes more easily?  Or am I asking if I see parts or wholes more easily.  I think I see both parts and wholes.  But which is better?  Which is more intense?  Which has more meaning?  Which goes on better?  Which goes somewhere else?  To see parts or wholes?  To see parts or wholes?  To see parts or wholes?  Is it a part or a whole?  A sense of what things  are or a sense of how things relate or what are parts and what are wholes?  What about interrelations versus objects?  To see things as systems of related activities interactions, things bouncing off each other rather than object a and object b.  Instead of separate objects with separate properties let’s see a collection of objects which have a collection of properties.  A collection of properties.  What a collection of objects that have a collection of interactions.  The way things in a system interact rather than the way things outside of systems are propertied.

Objects have properties.  And ways of doing things.  Systems have collections of objects that interact with other parts.  This object and that object touch and meet and tansform each other.  Systemically they meet each other and together they go somewhere.  Make something happen.  Make life.  Together they make things happen.  Things happen.

I am wishing that I could find what I am needing to find.  I wish that finding what I need I could find.  I wish there was something I could find.  I wish I could find.  I wish I could find.  I wish.

I am looking for something that makes something mean something.  I am looking.  Are you looking?  For something we find that something.

This is sixteen minutes after the first shot.  Can you help me find where we are going?  Where I am going?  Where going is?  I do not know where I am going.  Going going going going gone.  I wish I knew where I was going to.  I wish I knew where going to was.  I wish I could go to where I need to go.  I need to go somewhere that is going not to.  I do not need to reach a destination.  I need to move.  I need to keep moving.  To keep moving until I get somewhere.  I need to keep moving despite not finding what I need.  I need to keep moving because what I need is to keep moving.  Standing still is not in my blood.  Life and time must keep moving.  I must keep[ moving.  I am feeling strangely.

Right now I am feeling strangely.  My hands feel very far from myself.  My center.  Everything feels distant.  I am distant from myself.  My body is distant from me.  I am not where my body is.  I do not know how far apart we are.  Not very.  Perhaps just enough.  Enough?  Are we enough apart?  Or are we close?  Are we close?  Are we close?  I think at times that we are too close together.  Things that made sense make sense no more.  Things that made sense are still and yet too far apart to make true and real sense.  Things do not make enough sense.  Do they make enough sense?

Twenty-one after the start and I am ending this morning’s freewrite
[End Afternoon Freewrite]