So you sit down at the typewriter. You start to sype, or type, or something. If I was Issaz Asimov this might be the start of a novel. Or it might be a part of the stuff that gets thrown away after a daily six hour session. Maybe. Could be. Perhaps.
Just start typing. That is what the One Typed Page is all about. Right? There is Cuban music playing in the background. Semi-random choice of what to play. It comes, the music comes, from Pandora. It is not loud enough to really understand. Just the vibe, the feeling of it.
It is not late. OK, I am lying. It is almost 10:00. Yes PM 10:00 type of night time. The tyme the time of the day that is never lit up by sunlight. Like would or could be in middle of twight if it were the height of summer, in late June or so each year. Though those days are long gone. We will have darkness for hours by now each day. My lying earlier in this piece was due to me not knowing what I have been doing. The typewriter has been out. For hours, since there was a twilight. Like I love each day, twight ti twilight. There we go.
Keep going. Keep going, keep the fingers on the keys and moving. Keep having words appear on the paper keep having bits of stuff that I don’t recognize show up on the paper.
By the time you read this it will be Sunday for hours in every direction. I used to have that as a signature line while I worked. “It is Monday for hours in every direction.” On Mondays. Now it is Sunday for … If you are reading this at another time, in another day, substitute the name of the day for what I have said.
Life is formless these days. I do not have something Well, there are many things on my to-do list but none of them are necessary. This is all recreation I can do what I want and if it does not get done the only thing that misses is my tracking, like my One Typed Page. Or whatever it is that I get out of it. Maybe this inside is really a day of not making something for others to read. It is a day of typing something so that I have typed something and my typing muscles are still there and my attention to spelling and spaces get a little workout. It is my junk page because somedays you need to write the bad stuff so there is room for the good stuff to escape your or my or the typists brain and then something good can emerge.
Or so we hope.
— MichaelRpdx mlr:ih3k