As I lay in bed entertaining the most remarkable thoughts, all of these floating on the substrata of sleeplessness, I was struck by how little effort these excellent notions demanded of me. So I levered myself discreetly up from the mattress so as not to disturb my wife and tossed on my pajamas and bathrobe in the near-dark and then checked the time on the thermostat next to the bathroom, 2:30 am.
You see, I intended to record here within my blog at Open Salon all the artful phrases and intriguing ideas which had ebbed through my mind earlier. But where earlier while still in bed my consciousness was steeped in privacy, now as I sit at the computer keyboard a certain inhibition has set in.
Of course inhibition is completely unfashionable nowadays in books and films, so in the race to artistic glory I will surely bring up the rear, similar to an elderly entrant in a marathon.
But it was uncanny how convinced I was that these narcosis-ridden notions were so valuable for their revelatory power and originality. Now I can hardly vouch for this, the significance of which previously seemed so self-evident.
I could say that the technology got in the way, that by using a ledger I could have recalled my dream-thoughts with a fair degree of accuracy. With a ledger you simply open the book to an unused page and begin, and watch your hand produce its work. I've always claimed that handwriting can take one closer to the ground of being than a typewriter or a computer. But nowadays some people even here at Open Salon would not be able to make the comparison.