If I don't manage to say this, it
doesn't exist. This is a discipline I need to ingrain on myself if
I'm ever to salvage my thoughts from the total obscurity of my own
thinking. The monologue I experience as my mind cogitates and digests
the ideas to which I've become accustomed means nothing if there's no
way to get this stuff untangled from the momentary encounter and
stored in a comprehensible medium. There are countless times I've
surprised myself with an idea, or a clever way to phrase an old idea,
and been once again reminded of the reason why these times are
countless. I never record them, never make them count. It would be
absolutely fitting to judge my intellectual musing to be nothing more
than trite mental masturbation. I find a conceptual space where I can
comfortably languish, tease my notions and sensibilities with
speculation and thought experimentation, until ultimately I coax out
the 'aha' moment, the minor epiphany that seems to have been the
whole purpose of my auto-analytic fixation.
The process of coping with the
effervescence of my favorite ideas naturally lends to a desire to
preserve them. Simply thinking these thoughts as loudly as I can and
hoping they will reverberate in a lasting memory probably does serve
to break in the path, reinforcing my ability to find my way back here
again. However, it does not do much to package the idea in any sort
of tidy, organized fashion which can be easily externalized. In fact,
training myself to consciously hold on to my prized meditation all at
once might easily be counterproductive to the act of writing it down.
In its most unwieldy configuration, the concept I'm trying to record
has been given the illusion of some kind of atomic unity, a fully
amalgamated whole idea with no clear beginning, middle, or end. Of
course there had to be an orderly progression of cognitive events
before there could possibly come a climactic conclusion, and I'd
expect any effective description of the whole of the idea would
necessarily include a proper representation of this progression.
The twisted magnitude of my egocentric
introversion is clearly evidenced in the very existence of the text
I've written thus far. I sat down with the intent of describing an
idea I had, but as soon as I transitioned from having the idea to
writing it down, my attention got mired in an unnecessarily verbose
narrative encapsulating the experience of having an idea and
struggling to write about it. It would seem that my
self-consciousness has gotten entirely in the way of actually coming
to the damned point.
