As the first step in fair-method, I celebrate the demise of these passing thoughts by throwing them into the wind.

For example, as soon as another day is gone, another journal entry is forgotten. I still keep them, but hardly ever look back at them.

Poetry, for me, is another purgative pursuit. Often a feeling hits me, a situation sends me whirling, and as I make sense of the chaos I spin a web of words to spray into the cosmos, releasing the turmoil before any trauma sets in, or freeing myself from the talons of feelings held.

Gradually I've been unearthing old stuff from my old Roam graph, from the Dropbox of old, and from the piles of markdown files that accumlated in iA Writer over the years. That's what this Commonplace is for: bringing the scattered second brain together somewhere. But honestly, who has time?

Previously I called these the Archives, where one would keep notes that were once in projects, areas, or resources and may someday be of value again. As the fourth tier of para-method, we let these get dusty.