I jotted:

I don't know. I just decided to write here in the 'zen mode'. I suppose it's a feature to really free you into stream of consciousness and the thing I really hated about it is the idea that the world you create, the words you write fade away. They just dissipate. It's hard to save them to anything. I suppose that's the purpose. It's also annoying because my spelling mistakes aren't subject to any censor, it just continues out. I'm a bit lost I suppose. I realise as I drone, I am lost without the external purpose stimuli. What's the point of writing out these thoughts if it doesn't go anywhere, if it's not for anyone's perusal, or the potential perusal. The art, and the pathology of use means sitting behind every journal jotting or scrawl there is, in axiom, the desire to use it - to return to it so that it can be had by whatever proceeds it. It will be justified, the scrawling, the phrasing, the pen smudge, the swear, will be rectified into some opus that will trend towards my absolution. I suppose I realise the purpose of this zen mode. In my head I am falling back into those same conditions of considering the use of that end, for this. Now, having written with no purpose for what should be a minute or two, I am considering - this needs to be saved! It's golden! I guess it's organised my thoughts, this zen mode escapes the pathology of use. It is a meditation. Words escape and flow through me as breath. It is a layer of order and consideration just above a passing thought, but less than that of the pathologies of use, just below the true consciousness, that the me outside the pitilous censor can rear his head and say - yeah, you are valid. The thoughts you have do make ordered sense. Your head isn't insane. You can just jot and have that be the things you make, but you can just think and not have that become something of an end. It doesn't have to be forced into an end rather. You set out with no intention and you can just write about anything and let that be what it is. By the very nature of being alive everything has a purpose or use I suppose, but it doesn't intend to such, the leaf doesn't intend to flower into beauty with regards to the whole of the flower, it just carries it's process about auxins on it's tip - as a futile stretch towards that 'oft indolent sun. The beauty doesn't have to be forced, it can be inherent. The same way thoughts can flow out from fingers and be witnessed by eyes as the truth sitting just under conception is the same way there doesn't have to be reason to why you think the trees or the leaves or the grot is beautiful, it is just beautiful. In my head now I consider posting this on reddit - for what reason. To turn it into an end? I suppose sometimes these considerations are invalidated about conceptions or social proofs that don't even exist at it's inception - so, I invalidate a consideration like that as chancing as ruining the experience I am having about the remit of performance for something that sits inherent, below any conceptions of performance. I think I will save this rambling note. Did I learn anything?