6.11.2012 (a note taken at work while I should be working)

A tired start to the day. Perhaps I already know that writing will not take place today. After all, what is it that has permitted thought - and therefore, writing - to come forth from me of late? That I have been feeling refreshed? That I have slept well? No, that cannot be it. If anything, the opposite has usually been true. I have been using states of tiredness to my advantage, hangovers, sleep deprivation - states undesired by our society, unproductive states, detrimental to 'good health'. Why do I find these states so conducive to writing? It feels as though, in such states, all of the thoughts that usually roam around my head erratically, without the calm and focus necessary to make them intelligible - petty worries, anxieties about day to day life, administration, work, what I'm doing with my life - slow down and grind to a halt. If allowed an attempt at conversation during such a state, as I had with H. the other night, I find that my thought is left with no alternative but to pour forth slowly and calculatedly; it simply isn't allowed the speed to lose itself in the act of speech. Thought is always lagging behind speech in these states, rather than speech lagging behind thought, as is so often the case. It becomes a speech that lags behind itself.

 Could the best writing be slow, painful writing? Unexcited, unagitated writing. Calm, slow, a drudging crawl through thick mud, but a stoic crawl, one that's not annoyed, not angry or cursing its lot. Nor is it hopeful - it doesn't expend itself in anticipation of the future. It cannot imagine an end result, let alone be concerned with it. In this state alone do I truly allow myself to write, allowing myself to pick up on the tiniest urges to write, even when it feels as though I haven't much to say, and I am rewarded with unexpected insights that only reveal themselves to me as they unfold in the process of writing. It cares not for utility, all that matters is movement - as slow as possible.