Process

This is somewhat shorter then my other posts. I think it still gets the point across though.

I can’t relax. There is a constant undulating of my insides, bruising muscle, back and forth. There exists confusion, a clouded memory covering the new that are trying to get out. Independent thought cannot continue from this point, but that which is hindering my progress cannot be seen. A tapping foot, a quickened heartbeat, signs of an unknown unease. The slight movement of my fingers turns a gear. A lever has been pulled as the ancient machine begins to hum with activity. Random nonsense, meaningless words begin to take shape on the screen. As they speed along the page, appearing from nothingness, the curtains are slowly opened to the control room of the machine, the man inside still lost in his own problems. At first slow, then at a quickened pace, ever faster. Soft meaning forms, nothing to something, the cloud now clearing. And as the machine approaches the culmination of its current work, the conductor sees that the very ideas which clouded the new were themselves the new ideas. They had simply not taken the form of word, their meaning had been until now lost.