What is on my mind is that nothing is on my mind, and nothing is on my mind because I have grown out of practice. Out of the practice in thinking in words and phrases and meanings. Out of practice in typing words on blank pages so that they say something more. Blank facing blank producing blank after blank after blank. My mind is blank and has been allowed to remain undeterred in its unfocus. I allowed distraction. I forget how to use words.
To forget how to use words – no, not how to use words – but how to use words without abuse. Something more about respect paired with the way language is used: something meant as a commentary that comes off as a criticism: something about the meaning/interpretation deviation as an abuse in and of itself (to the reader, the writer, the language, and (what it always comes back to) time).
‘Respectfully’ is not how We are taught to write, but rather, with technical correctness. I have been reading the abuse of language more than I have been writing with attempted care: I have been editing technical papers. Papers written out of the writer’s native tongue. Papers written in my own native tongue. I am distracted with revisions and I am blurring twisted tongues and I am reconstructing mincing meanings to be left with nothing of my own to say.
My writing is self-aware. It knows it is writing – no, not that it is writing – it knows it is something written. It talks about it openly, to, I think, at times, a fault. I discuss it openly. I make mention of too much that comes to mean too little. I wonder if I am petty when I write too little down. I wonder if I am petty as I read too little back. I don’t think so, not always, but I’ll try to write more.