Manus sequitur mentem 1:1

As I finish my last piece and press enter on my advanced writing machine, I glance at my phone’s alarm. It’s already past five in the afternoon. That means I’ve been sitting on my black thinking chair for almost five hours straight from the moment I started searching for inspiration to the last cigarette butt I dropped.

My mind is full of ideas fluttering in the air as I fog the entire room with smoke from yet another lit cigarette. I look at the right corner of my workstation and see that I’ve already finished one pack, plus three more sticks, all drowned in water so no spark from the ashes survives. This one would be my fourth, I tell myself, as I start typing again on my magical writing machine. I promised myself I wouldn’t move a budge until everything in my head is typed into my digital notepad.

I can feel my shoulders straining from the five-hour position, and numbness is slowly crawling from my toes up to my calves.

I don’t have any stories to tell. I don’t have any characters in this script. I only have myself. And I want everyone to picture exactly what I’m doing on my laptop as I type down the words that mirror my actions in real time.

This is what we call mens scribens when the mind starts to write, and the hands simply follow.

I don’t know how to end this, but as I smoke the cigarette left in my hand, I can see how the rising smoke amplifies the ideas burning in my head.

Do we forget these ideas once we fall asleep? If I stand up from this chair, will everything I’m holding onto right now disappear? Is it the same feeling when a thought pops into our mind something important, something urgent and then, the moment we drift deeper into the unconscious, we suddenly lose it?

Yes, I’m just messing with you.
That’s the kind of idea that’s flowing into my mind right now. And now I can end this as I smoke the last butt of this cigarette before I end up killing myself with nicotine.

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