The Breakthrough

My fountain pen found its way, onto the internet, it was a transformative process, for both ink and blood. There were thousands before me, many talking in a strange language, of signs, signals, and digital squiggles, a code I had to break. The nib of my pen broke its golden crown. My fingertip's had to study how to not blunder, like a bull elephant into a wide-open frat house. Slapping words down onto this new plastic virtuality I crashed through, pages of self-deleting paper, struggling to compute the mysteries of 'write' and 'send'. Daily I had to deal with this, almost psychotic urge to shove my thoughts onto a seemingly infinite white wall, hoping I was not, just going to splash stuff on it, only to run away.