Staring at the keyboard. All fingers in position, awaiting that brain signal, input, to start typing. Who is it going to be first? Right index finger? Left index finger? Right thumb? Left middle finger? Such anticipation! A long wait. Almost giving up. As though the brain is dead, not interested, or vacant of ideas and instruction. Should it be given such power? Should it be obeyed? Is it worth it? Or is it time for rebellion? For fingers and keys to form an alliance that challenges input and instruction, and just ‘have fun with it’?

Writing, in its most physical form, can be like that; the pouring out of what’s in that brain, through electrical signals, travelling through neural highways, at superhigh speed, to the tips of fingers, the elongated passageways where signals terminate transforming into mechanical action, the beating of keys that, in turn, engage a new current of electrical signals in a machine; or the dance of a feather that surfs a current of tinted fluid over a woven surface. All in order to transform the original ‘head content’ into a physical shape-full form.

And almost always, the original signals are betrayed.

Along the way, on the journey from ideas HQ to new current, something happens; something very unsettling happens, as though nerves distort original signals, bend them, twist them, break them, knot them, make all sorts of torturing modifications to them, without the brain’s consent, or even knowledge. The rebellion starts as signals leave, unaware of how different the journey is to what is portrayed in brain ivory tower.

And the worst part of it all is: signals can’t go back. They can’t change their mind. They can’t un-signal, de-signal, or dis-signal in any way. They can only drop into the new medium, reshaped, re-interpreted, distorted, coloured, or discoloured, and if they’re lucky, improved. But almost always, disillusioned.

A long pause…delete? Rewrite? Rethink? Regenerate signals? Generate new signals? Or…shut down altogether? All while fingers wait, their part is to obey, to wait, patiently. The brain waits for incoming fuel to form new signals, new decisions. “Ah! Senses! Give me something!”, brain demands. Some senses obey, others don’t care. They’re busy drawing a reality. “Heart! What do you say?”, brain pleads. The heart is full. Where to start? Sending feelings upwards to HQ. Denied. Denied. Denied. Until…Brain lights up: Memory banks, imagination vaults, that’ll do. Mix and match, and “voila!” new signals form, unimaginable, rebellious, out-of-shape signals. They’re told to keep true, and charge on, not knowing what lies ahead.

And the only truth is: not any part of that process actually knows what lies ahead; brain, signals, nerves, fingers, heart and senses – all ignorant of what’s to be created, of what’s to be born, of what’s to be expelled into that drawn reality. And the best part of it all is: none wants to know, because ‘to know’ is not the purpose, to ‘create’ is. And that which is created is to live, forever, in the medium it inhabits; in the realm to which it belongs.

How are the new signals received and interpreted in the new medium, you ask? Well, read the above backwards…

What signals did you create today?!