Journal Entry 1/26/10

   “Why does my pen carry on, does it have some sort of life of it’s own? Have I conditioned my hand over all these years to record each passing whim in my head, parroting my thoughts like a trained bird? Maybe so.

   Perhaps my pen is a zombie, contrived of once living material mined from the earth and shaped into a writing tool.  Intended as a useful slave to humanity, it has turned the tables on me, and the master’s tools have dismantled the master’s house. Living a half-life of words and doodles.

   Such strange things I find myself rambling about…Zombie pens? What will I think of next, man-eating fruit cake…..?”


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