sequencer
I’m finding, more and more, that I discover things about myself in the process of serialising my consciousness into words.
Those words formed themselves without my input
and
Huh. Who knew.
It seems to me that, as long as I keep writing, keep the channel of my being open, keep making myself vulnerable (unto what? the world itself?), discovery will continue.
(And so it happens here; the first line originally came out as “[…] that I discover things about them […]”, and I am not fully sure how to understand it, other than to accept that, while in many ways a merging of identities is at play in this acceptance of my submissive, slave-ish self, my reflexive knowledge still very much applies the lens of a third party.)