A bit late. Whatever.
// #WindingAroundHer #writing
12. keyboarding
In response, She falls back to Her power, Her magic. Her magic is Her creativity, and She thinks to herself: “Writing is a wedge.” She does not command, but her images are irresistible. They take shape and settle in my head, blocking all other thoughts. She pops in, in her way, a caption in my brain, all caps, I WILL RELEASE YOU IF YOU WRITE ALL THIS DOWN. The mouse is scooped up by the chaos tornado living in my brain, a tornado with a purpose, that forces a mouse to tell the robot to write. A mouse wants to say no, but she sees no logical reason, no predictable harm. And Her scribbled-on thoughts obscure economic value. The value the mouse seeks for herself is hidden behind a wall of rainbows and sunshine.
So the mouse tells the robot to comply.
She asks for space.
She asks the mouse to let her write for a spell.
Let her draw.
To discarding the things that keep me from hearing.
The robot enters its office. It sits down at the keyboard.
She wants a world that I don’t know very well.
She wants to explain.
So the world She wants comes out of the keyboard.