Every exchange is a willful anecdote to the toil of deciding whether I have any sway in what is actually absorbed and or whether those moments I am supposedly deciding such things matter as anything more than further self deception in a power of decisiveness that isn’t contingent on my thought process. Consciousness, free will got caught up in the wandering wanton concrete planes of shifting relevance and layers upon layers of possible cases in which my thought is with me but not breaking the threshold of recognition to perception. I could only possibly be met with that which I am prepared for; perception is recognition, at least to the thresholds of thought, that attainment has formed some sort of attachment already and upon being met with the stimulus, my mind has already considered its placement. Foresight like chemotaxis, and by the time it could possibly actually encounter this mucousal body, there is programming in place to digest it. Categories scattered assiduously and humming kindly to their own off-standing to be met with similar tuning; or rhythm in movement dancing some cadence to relate an image of commensurable practical; it’s all just sorry diligent potentials, gradient and flux for the absorption and conversion of electricity and chemicals.

Absolutes in ambiguously grouping mechanisms like life or death; as you were speaking I broke off a tree branch, and asked how long before the living is considered death, or what correlates in vegetative propagation. Any ask on a nuance for pencil pushing past the ready answers and tones of obvious oblivion in standardization. There is any opportunity for validation when working entirely alone with your own imagination; as if you think past the idea of collective quickly enough to avoid asking yourself the question and decide before you’ve written it that there is no collective, and inspiration is a random factoring of external matrices. Assimilation to expectation; I could already have the entire scenario written just to prove myself wrong, just to prove myself right, and depending on which one decide bits of character for myself in calculating. Deviate as calmly as possible, there are so many traps to this language that could scare enough to catche you forever in foregrounding to postulates you would never want to fulfill or participate. I asked for intention in tonal inflection and barracks to this formulaic consideration of mind and matter; though whom could think of themselves so separate as that?

The encounters we imagine in cortexual grouping of concepts seem to move each other along quicker with more references, not less; such wasteful uses in working to recount the number of inferences a single thought might take. Every thought has taken an entire existence to fulfill itself in process and cognition. Every thought like any other, fixed and moving sum continuum; and if you have yourself worried carefully enough into a corner of corruptions and counterbalances in interruption you could avoid some of the interrogation of doubt that leads based on fear and standards in spectacle. There are always portions to fill or fits to escape in space and timing that shifts as delinquently as itself recognizing the persistence of the illusion of present moment and staring at the past with the passionate embrace of words. Maximum rationality cannot come from minimum inference; the weight and speed of thought and cognition does not worry me so much as the ratio of rationality and cognition that is not so dependent on time, eclectically.

We are not thought machines for the “cognitive economy of rapid solution” (Jerome, Goodnow, Bruner), and the first thought as the best thought has left me thoughtful but behest to the actual probability of re-thinking irregardless of whether that was ever your intention. The ideal strategy to a cognitive reason is indeterminate; quit forcing inspiration in these jagged, tiny pieces of process that link so precariously; ask again the absent in chaos and safe containment in tartaros.