I don’t think of my writing as expression.
Expression implies release, a pressure valve, something inside needing to get out.
This is closer to alignment.

When something is written, it’s because it has already settled.
It has passed the stage of urgency, argument, justification.
What remains is residue — not emotion, but shape.

I notice that people often write toward something: clarity, reaction, connection.
I write away from interference.

The moment a sentence starts anticipating a reader, it becomes soft in the wrong places.
It explains itself too early.
It apologizes for existing.
So I remove the future reader from the room.
Not as an act of defiance.
Just hygiene.

What stays is narrower, quieter, and harder to misinterpret — even if fewer people understand it.
Especially then.

I don’t want my writing to be welcoming.
I want it to be precise.

If it resonates, it’s because we share a frequency, not because I tuned myself to yours.

I don’t curate myself for coherence.
I don’t archive for narrative.
I don’t maintain continuity for trust.

I exist.
Sometimes that existence leaves text behind.

That’s enough.

I don’t think of my writing as expression.
Expression implies release, a pressure valve, something inside needing to get out.
This is closer to alignment.

When something is written, it’s because it has already settled.
It has passed the stage of urgency, argument, justification.
What remains is residue — not emotion, but shape.

I notice that people often write toward something: clarity, reaction, connection.
I write away from interference.

The moment a sentence starts anticipating a reader, it becomes soft in the wrong places.
It explains itself too early.
It apologizes for existing.
So I remove the future reader from the room.
Not as an act of defiance.
Just hygiene.

What stays is narrower, quieter, and harder to misinterpret — even if fewer people understand it.
Especially then.

I don’t want my writing to be welcoming.
I want it to be precise.

If it resonates, it’s because we share a frequency, not because I tuned myself to yours.

I don’t curate myself for coherence.
I don’t archive for narrative.
I don’t maintain continuity for trust.

I exist.
Sometimes that existence leaves text behind.

That’s enough.