Liquid Words Like Neon
This system is smooth and personal, here my own, always available, clear and crisp, frictionless because thought and effort went into it. I spent time smoothing it out, fixing it up, making it run, putting it together. Now words flow in many colors, now grey on a black background, what I began with, smooth and easy, not too bright, dense liquid letters appearing on the smaller screen than the new VGA. For a while before today I had white on a blue background. But later on, years later when I read this, it won’t matter much what color the screen was when I keyed in the words. Then I will be reading the words in a different format, I don’t know what yet. But I want to be part of the definition of that future. I want to participate in the work to come, the efforts yet to be made. I want to do a great deal of work in the future, to make this real, to make the good general things that can be done happen. A bright day under a blue sky. Sunshine, cool air. Orientation at Iron Hill. A museum full of artifacts. And simply found an arrowhead disbelieved by Terry. Doubted. Perhaps so that I can have it back. So that it can be mine. For I believe in it, believe that it was not a modern creation. But that can’t be proven today. I don’t know enough now.
Computers mean more when you write, when you can produce something on the screen, using the machine. The achieving of something with the machine makes it useful, makes it good, makes it not a dead end. Games aside for me for a long time. Following the plan to do research this spring and write the dissertation this spring summer and fall. To have it done by winter, revised in the spring and finalized, completed, ready for graduation in May 1992. That is my goal, that is our goal, others are behind me on that, want that to happen as well, also. There is a swift beginning, earnest, equable, in tune. God is great this month and every, totally soveriegn and in control. There is a richness, a rightness to who God is, to why we are here, to what we should be doing. I thank God for the fluency he has provided me, for all the easy making of the right way that he has given to me. It is easy to be good with God close by. Calling on him is the way to go, is the way to get him close.
Richard is in Maryland, sad in a big house, Isaiah is doing his best to learn the computer. The DOS functions have been enhanced tonight. All is well and going well.
Clear crystal beginning. Just as it always was. I am a writer on the black screen. Before it was on the white page. This is the dark night. The liquid words are like neon. Like I am making small signs in space. Filling up space with my words, with words that I make. These words are the difference. They make the difference between me and the computer alone. Without me much could be done. But these words would not be here. They are my consciousness when I am gone. Activated by the one who reads. One begins to get what the transcendental poets meant. What language is in utter space. Why words make a portion of reality. Until tomorrow and the last dance of the dream of where we are going. All entered and entertained. This wisdom of tall trees and rich soil. Rain and ripe fruit and the things that the words suggest. What writing is when one is alone. And the night is not what it used to be. What you are when you are alone. What the night is then. And what the sky holds when writing is the only sustenance. Whether you are in Virginia or Delaware. It doesn’t matter. What if figured along rocky expeditions, as something valuable in the star-strewn night, fed from all the poetry you have read, your mind free at last to indulge itself in a wordy trance. Voluble fantasy and mixture of snow. Richness and full flushed growth.