When I’m writing, it’s the fingers that originate words. Each letter is evoked thoughtlessly, a physical response, as automatic as breath. If I stop to think about it, the neural sparks that move words invisibly from eye to screen stutter to a stop and the keyboard ceases to be kinetic — pure musculature — and becomes a visual thing apart from me.

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My eye makes of the keyboard a schizoid mess of letters. So the trick is not to look down, not to think, to let the words slip past the eyes, as the hands quietly do the work.