The writing process is never complex. This does not mean anything.
The complexity lies in the processes that the writer describes, not in the writing itself.
Painting signs on the paper is honest, loyal and subtle.
It stands poles apart from complexity.
Its reason for existence can never be in the attempt to remain accurate in our attempt at depicting the technicity of Reality — or the mental mechanisms out of which we perceive the emergence of our reality.
The purpose of writing lies in the quest for a way out.
It has a double-flattening outcome.
Literally : it lies down, on the sheet’s bidimensionality, the architectures and archeological organization of our mind.
Figuratively, it hopes to iron out the difficulties raised by the mountains of complexity.
Its key property, its initial meaning, is to give birth to simplicity.
Through this blend of literal and figurative action, it allows to hold Reality in our pocket.
It gives readability and grants the writer some sleep as his writing opens onto the solving of the initial equation.
The writing may appear labyrinthine, for it often walks the writer along the corridor of his own convoluted self. Again and again.
One night, when he has stopped expecting it.
He hooks the doorknob with the tip of his pen
And lets light enter the darkened halls of his soul.