When you make yourself sit for an hour and nothing's coming to mind,
you've got to make it come to mind. It's Artesian -- dig a hole,
eventually you'll hit water, which'll well up. Get the fingers moving,
the mind'll go, "Hey, whatthefuc--...c'mon, they're startin without
us!"

Tap the artesian arseholes

The internet and its many temptations helped keep me pinned to the
computer for the whole time. Thus I learned to multi-task. Work in
another window, get an idea, return to Word and run with it, and then
surprise myself with the intercourse.

I want to write something I've never thought of before. I have to take
my own mind by surprise to do it. I have to write from the synapse
between fingers and self, between logic and musculature. That gap
throughwhich flashes the Universal All, the Pure Potentiality, the
infinite Chocolate Love of the ages.

Asuras surprised
Maya surprised

My old stories, you can see where I was trying to write like Them. Like
the Other, to mimic some invisible Template. You could see where I was
writing shit from the pure peristalsis of my cultural intentions. Where
I was slinging alien words that just didn't like each other.

They lived in the same sentence, and comfortable, smug and comfortable
cliches living together. But they warred with the native words of my
own mind. My native words would rush out like Arab soldiers, all
screaming and shooting, if I'd let them. The razzia of my own native
words might've invaded the serried ranks of cliché and cornered words,
words conned and cornered, rows of live slaves living the good life in
a comfortable sentence, content at a comfortable table, standing stock-still
pretending to be the words a publisher would want to deploy.

Hoping the publishers won't notice. Living in a luxurious sentence --
then words jump the walls. Commuted sentences, and the words are
repatriated.

Writing words that are not in my mind
From the synapse between brain and idea
Midwifed direct from the somewhereverse itself
Somewherverses from some summer universe itslef
Words never touched by my intention
Never silversmithed nor midwifed direct
Words found like fossils
Like fossils of ancient ideas
Unearthed and carefully brushed