WRITERLY PRINT
I have to confess that I’m not purely a ‘typer’, or author who types-up hiswork without reference to a manuscript, but a writer or, more correctly,scribbler who later types-up what he has scribbled. Generally, I scribble inthe morning and type in the afternoon, typing-up the morning’s scribble. Ipride myself on this arrangement, since it makes for variety and isbeneficial to my health, particularly with regard to my eyes and stomach,which would become respectively strained and ulcerated, were I to make apoint of typing all day, like some authors. For me, there is too muchphysicality in the use of a typewriter, even the small portable one I use, so I
prefer the usually more relaxing medium of scribble, which I also findmore intimate.I always scribble with a black felt-tipped pen, not only because I likeits facile motion across the but, no less importantly, because it confers
a kind of supernatural bias on my scribbling and is appropriate to suchscribble. Why, you may wonder, do I scribble and not write, meaning towrite clearly and carefully, if not beautifully. The simple answer is that,being a supernaturalist, I prefer truth to beauty, and scribble is the best and
most suitable way of conveying the Truth. In other words, it makes noclaim to beauty, to belles lettres in a merely technical sense, but enablesone to pursue one’s ideas at maximum speed, the very speed necessary forthe acquirement and development of a high degree of inspirationcommensurate with the rapid flow of one’s thought. Write carefully, withspecial attention to the formation of the lettering, and you get bogged downin technicalities, sacrificing truth to beauty, or essence to appearance.No, I am no ‘belle-lettrist’, in any sense of that term, but a confirmedscribbler, and have been so for some years now, to the general advantage ofthe Truth. Those who pursue truth must abandon beauty, and not merely intheir style or technique … but in their lifestyle generally. Hence theabsence of women in my life and its consequent freedom from enslavementto the Beautiful. Had I acquired a beautiful woman some years ago, when Ialmost did, I would never have got to this. I may not even have become awriter in the first place, or, if I had, it would probably have been on a less
supernatural level than that to which I’m now accustomed. However,speculation aside, I know for sure that the pursuit of truth requires theabandonment of beauty, and the nearer one gets to the Truth, the more mustone abandon the Beautiful, since the formless and the formal are everantithetical.You may have perceived, reader, that my work is formless, and this,
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