Bored as hell with one hour to type this thing out. No idea what or where it will go, just a train of thought. Rubber ducks penis pump. Videos on the train. The winter Olympics and some utter non-sense. Dreamers on the train, time to think and write a clear moment of dull boredom vanquished with a pen. Like a knife or scissors to the page turning and cutting out shapes and fragments. Bits of stuff flow out like meaningless junk. Juke em' good. Just some poetics and slangishness coiled and repeated in a linear segment of time. The time it takes to read this or the time it took to write this. Linear segments like a straight line curving and bending to a final result. The last word. When will it end and when will it continue again--- maybe just the other side of the page or a fresh one with new boundaries of words and lines. Rythmica. The tempo stays at a flat rate like an old can spinning on a wooden table. It spins for a duration and falls over or rights itself. No idea of either. Just pick it up again and spin, spin. The reason is enough. Prevent boredom in a linear land. Cycles happen, repetition and odds or chance not unlike the roles of dice; evens or odds high or low. Its meaning is what you make of it or nothing at all. It's just hitting a few keys to drown out the silence with periods of silence in-between. Not and unlikely occurrence; like finding a meditation with materials in your hand. Manipulate is your will. To make shows will power. In a linear way this provides speed and motion; bringing silences to and end while making something or just showing your will. Like the sound of waves on the shore. Just a sound, just a motion, a direction indicating movement. The real goal is the bridgework; connecting these things through the silent parts. That is a job open to any. A free duty not meant for anyone but a job none the less. John Cage used the I-Ching to relate things. You can use any system or apply systems after. That is the real work. It's the work of the archivist, collector and curator assessing and sizing it up. Well what then of nature or the natural world. Doesn't that have the order of chaos and non- sense. Twisted lines of branches intertwined lacework or lines interweaving texts. Or is it just the senses. It becomes art when it hits someone's eyes or ears etc. Each of us is a line interweaving eyes like cross hairs on a scope or a magnifying glass. We are assessing something with the previous parts of the line or text. Am I jumping around too much? Did I not prove my thinking good? I'm not looking for proof or correctness I'm just working on a line, a straight line, a line with curves. Like the scissors cutting it up again. The knife turns on the page and goes off in another direction. I cannot return or restore its movements. I can only wait for that fresh new page; on with the new conditions to prove my will and to open my magnifier.