its like willing yourself to a surface , when that surface is not really where you want to be through a fog or a sea which offers resistance ; i have to push my pen against it to form these letters , these letters , these l-e-t-t-e-r-s. that is the odd thing , this warm rustling , rumbling , grumbling , thunder , when it fills you , even though you know , you knowreally , you do knowthat it is not necessarily the most wholesome feeling in the world , you could even know that indeed it was noxious , still you want to drown , you actually want to drown .