r It’s not so much my thoughts but my typing that I’m hooked on. Typing is a substitute for improvizational piano playing, which is what I’d otherwise be doing, but there’s more variety with typing than piano playing or other musical instruments as far as real-time output goes. I don’t think for long without producing some output of some kind. Reason is when I don’t, I vanish. I’m not there anymore. Who knows how much time goes by. Who can tell. Nobody’s there.

r┬áIt’s not so much my thoughts but my typing that I’m hooked on.
Typing is a substitute for improvizational piano playing, which is what I’d otherwise be doing, but there’s more variety with typing than piano playing or other musical instruments as far as real-time output goes.
I don’t think for long without producing some output of some kind.
Reason is when I don’t, I vanish. I’m not there anymore. Who knows how much time goes by. Who can tell. Nobody’s there.
There’s also a nasty thing that lay inbetween vanishing and production; and that’s being excessively aware of my body’s processes. No word thoughts, just pure awareness of the body’s many things going on and, well, it’s excessive.
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