tactiless

the feeling is both friction and smoothness
softly yet roughly; feels dry yet not too much
the poilshness is a plus; the wood on my hands and feet
feels much like air ironically; with it’s different layers

I like holding pens in a certain way
my synapse and muscle memory prefers a 35° or 40° tilt I suppose
where the finger\s mid mimics a shoulder bayonet or bag or some useful thing — like a relaxed expression; it is then the ink’s frothy mix feels organically my extension; I want to see and decode the crisp of it as it knots and unknots in paper — like a meditation stance the art of writing requires subtle kinesthetics

paper itself must be touched and coddled; smelled and inhaled
from textbooks old and new, novels aged and young — the ink and paper joined in its coordinations seems to speak to you as much as the content; like water filling the jug and I am feeling the essences…

Night air is good for understanding the wind; the night seems to be less air traffic in wind streets and can compose itself in a nice way — I smell with caution, for sickness and apparitions are about; but I get the atmosphere summarized more intricately then just referring to weather devices of temperature; the numericals need sense beyond a little box.▬

Speak yer mind

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