* When I was 11, I started inventing "Thought Collectors". It
      pissed me off that I was losing thoughts. First one was a
      roll of calculator tape I attached to a piece of wood on a
      wooden dowel with a pen and a piece of string to keep from
      losing the pen.

      Migrated up to a 3x5 pocket notebook + pen in my mid-teens.
      To this day, I always have one with me. I have hundreds of
      those.

      Mostly to-do lists and boring things but the occasional
      nugget.

      But getting at modem in 1988, opened up The World for me. I
      thought the stuff would be more permanent than it was. Still
      have a lot of it; saved chat logs, personal emails and stuff
      from the late 80s + early 90s.

      Lots of projects lost due to hard drive failures or database
      disasters. Such is life.

      I also have a microcassette recorder with a lot of tapes,
      cassette tapes going back to when I was 7, some of which I
      stuck up on Soundcloud.. just because. I sound like an
      annoying 7 year old showing off on the piano. Significant
      only to me, but Kid Ken wanted to perform for The World when
      he made that tape, and now 7 yr old Ken gets his wish, as
      the Internet wasn't around for him back then. He also got a
      few "Likes" on Vine from a performance, so he's pleased.

      So, I'm given to introspection. I still hate losing
      thoughts, even dreams, and have elaborate Roman Rooms in my
      mind I use when I must, but they're fragile structures, so I
      still have to get myself to a pen and paper within a half
      hour or so.
      [1]13 mins * [2]Like
    * [3][IMG]
      [4]Kenneth Udut Actually, there's a lie in there. I never
      mastered Roman Room. I have to repeat things in my head like
      one would a phone number, or a jingle to a song over and
      over frantically until I can get to paper. Nobody else can
      see me being frantic; it's all internal.

      I'd hate to see the substantia nigra in my brain; it's
      probably a black, sticky mess with all of the writing and
      rewriting I do to it; [not implying a 'center of
      consciousness' but rather the continual emotional turmoil
      that's invisible and the continual rewards I give it when
      I'm successful at capturing a thought or getting the result
      I hope for. It's an addiction ]



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