Consider this the first step. The first step away from your pre-destined path and a step towards your epistemological destiny. At first the words will be slow, and your fingers will ache with inactivity. 'We haven't written in so long!', they'll scream. But ignore them, they are your slaves- you must work them as you would work anything totally under your command. Write furiously, like a hypographic madman, it’s not yours yet but it will be.
And you will be here to listen.
To listen, and to wonder.
To wonder how you get up every morning before you knew how to tell them what to do with their passing hours. Slaves in the hot, hot, heat- computers burning their tips, callusing their edges as if they had been working with weapons or musical instruments.
All that humidity, those poor little scoundrels, designer collars tied around their necks, cutting off the blood flow to their already stiffened brains. But don't worry about their brains- this about yours. Your brain is a muscle and you must exercise it as such. Occipital crunches, parietal push-ups, and don't forget stem lunges. Be diligent, make it hurt; progress always hurts.
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