The Chisel and the Level
Two Pages In, the “I” Disappeared
Two pages into a notebook, the “I” disappeared.
That firm center of experience dissolved.
The Writer — the one demanding sentences shape into a result — exited.
Writing continued.
Pen-as-chisel stopped trying to make something happen.
In its place, a small level.
To place gently against experience.
The bubble centers. Or it doesn’t.
I met precision when myself left.
For months, in the same notebook, I keep tripping over the word “I.”
I. Me. Myself. My self. My Self.
English requires a subject.
Experience doesn’t always have one. I don’t know what to call it when it doesn’t.
I won’t claim there is no self.
Some days the Writer is there, solidified, leaning forward, gripping the chisel, shaping the sentence.
Less and less though.
This is how the system regulates right now.
But sometimes it all eases.
Chisel-grip loosens.
Level rests cleanly against experience.
If the words are precise, the bubble settles.
Press publish and reliably the controlling Writer wakes.
Chest tightens.
Thought: better with the chisel?
Level sits quietly on the desk.
—
If you’d like to read as new pieces arrive, you can subscribe.
Related Reading
If this piece resonated, you might also like:
• Off The Tree — A steady succession of I’s.
• A Loop About A Loop — A question interrupts.
• Permission — I thought I needed permission to write.