Thoughts ect

It's fascinating to me how routinely overlooked the art of exporting thoughts to readable text is. (That sentence sounds increasingly ill-written but I am just going to go with it, for lack of a fundamentally better way of crafting that particular collection of words). See, what I am doing here is essentially simple and unglamorous: I am merely typing a slower, more methodical process of the inner musings in my mind at present. Fascinating, huh? And indeed interesting. Perhaps it is the language used, the conversational element to these inner processes wherein I am 'speaking' to a second self, that makes this kind of prose so fun to read. It's like I'm talking from a multidimensional third-party: a kind of bodiless ghost that transcends placement yet takes form in two separate spots at once, in mind and text, through the middleman of hands and keys. A techno-biological orgasmic exchange! The excitement is palpable!
Yet all things considered, it is increasingly rare that one thinks to merely pen what is thought. Why? Are these thoughts not as valid as those spoken aloud? Why is it that the thoughts we choose to elaborate on with tonal values and breath in conversation are privledged with outside life, while those in our heads when we are alone are left cold and isolated to our inner workings and processes. This is such a damn shame. Lately, I find I have an increasingly frequent desire to be mediated by a keyboard and computer at all times, if only for the ability to write down what I think in a manner conducive to capturing the frequency and swiftness of my thoughts (as I am a slower writer, alas). But this is not possible, nor is it feasible. And it is burdensome that I cannot share these revelations, as minute and fleeting as they may routinely be, with the conscious masses. It also burdens me that I cannot access the thoughts of my peers and counterparts with ease, lest I ask and disrupt the organic structure of their unique structural linguistic capacity.
To communicate is fundamentally animalistic in nature: we all do it, humans, bees, trees, atoms. We all need one-another to convey feeling and necessity, to understand and to grow, to fully exert a sense of purpose in being. Yet as humans, we communicate to such a basic degree, stifiling our thoughts to what is percieved as appropriate or merely necessary for the circumstance. All too often, this quelling of perhaps the more raw, pressing matters of mental exchange stifle the potentiality to discover, to self-educate, to enhanse and to grow as a cognitive being-and to reciprocate. Yet, to divulge into whatever string of syntax crosses the minds eye at any given interval is seen as unconventional; strange. If one is searching for points of conversation within another for a lack, perhaps I can understand this frusteration: Some treat complete strangers as an outlet for their feelings, which does indeed induce a tedious and awkward uni-directional exchange of ideas. Yet for those who have honed the art of communicating, and are merely exerting the human capacity-nay, duty-to share ideas and concepts and information to enhanse the perception of the receptor of such wonderful linguistic phenomena... it is hardly appreciated. It's a damn shame, given we could all learn so much more from each other if we all just let down our weapons and embraced our ability to convey so much with every facet of our being.