There is an apprehension about whether the cloth will turn out flawed or whether it will find an estimable place on the shelves, but quite strangely I find this gratifying. I find this gratifying because for once I am myself in the excited anticipation of an approaching climax or an unexpected twist in the plot. I simply do not care about the outcome. Is this as annoying as it seemed at first?

What surprises me is that such lack of purpose gives me an extraordinary ability to express myself freely. The words, they listen to me as I direct them to their appropriate positions on the sheet of paper. Thoughts and ideas no longer come into play. This feeling is something new to me. This is the liberty of expression I have been looking for! I am no longer chained by alien thoughts and ideas. The words allow me to play with them and, at last, they allow me to do as I please. Every door seems open to me. Somehow I have transcended the myths that surround my activity. Ideas and thoughts no longer pervade my memory, and they are now powerless before my words and I.

But is such lack of purpose correct? After all, words should have some meaning, or else they simply shouldn’t exist! And it is thoughts that provide the links and give them their meaning. Using words for no reason at all sounds shameful and actually conjures a feeling of guilt. The pleasure that such an activity brings me does not seem acceptable.

Such pleasure almost seems immoral. But when I come to think of it, the idea that it is thoughts, and not I, that must govern words has in fact been taken for granted! This has been the tradition for ages. But who am I to question tradition? Who am I to oppugn the beliefs of my herd? The mere thought of it appears to be a sign of disrespect.

But my words and I have to reciprocate the respect of others because it is their opinions, after all, which have brought me into being. The opinions that others have of me are the only proofs of my existence! It thus becomes my duty to sacrifice the pleasure that such ‘lack of purpose’ provides me.

But what does such a sacrifice safeguard? The opinion that others have of me, isn’t it? But opinions, it seems, are more a matter of the time of day than of objective judgment. So do I really exist if opinions are ever-changing? And what use is such an existence if I have to forever be on the lookout lest one misstep draw the attention of everyone towards me? I just might end up forgetting how to walk! And please ask my words; do they really want to be governed by the thoughts of others? I don’t think so; my words and I deserve much better than this.

My words and I will not live for others henceforward. My words will live for me, as I live for them. Thoughts will no longer be an obstacle. The thoughts of others were what chained me, but this will not recur. My words will never again weave themselves into cloth that will have to worry about whether it receives the praise of others or not. Its satisfaction will simply lie in the fact that it was at least destined to be something other than unwoven fabric.