Stream it Live!

For this post, I’m going to attempt a stream of consciousness type of writing that doesn’t stop for the next 10 minutes.

I had some thick brown soup with many eggs and mushrooms. The black and the deep hue of dirt has a very resonate feel to it–it feels I am almost drinking nature itself, packed and shipped from the bowl to the mouth as bits and pieces of substance. Like always, I’m concerned about the kind of commentary I give on my posts. As a result, I often end up pulling at my hair more than I do actually putting word on paper. The experiment I am trying to do has no direction except up, down, left and right. It tries to be grammatically correct for as long and as best as it can, but often times, grammatically correct and expedient sentences come at the cost of coherence. That didn’t rally make sense, did it? Either way, for what it is worth, my sentences are trying hard to pull themselves up by their bootstraps and begin to take off running. Unfortunately, the standard conventions of habit are weighing them down like anvil, dragging their feet in the cold sand that is insanity.

Why insanity? What isn’t sane, what isn’t coherent, what isn’t conventional–these things have typically be characterized and stigmatized as being “in-sane”, as in “not sane”. But what is “sane” anyways? The word itself, “sane”, gives off such a pathetic hiss, like a tongue that has lost control and is wobbling around and frolicing with the wind. Writing this is particularly difficult if my “stream” of consciousness is constantly being broken up by the rocks around me–rocks like distractions, impatience, loud noises, and worse of all–people. It’s crazy, really, the kind of sanity that people can bring to your supposedly “in-sane” words. The roles of the two seem almost reversed in this sense, like two similar looking people leading dissimilar lives trading places to see what it is like to live in each others’ shoes. Sometimes, it like a paper-jam, or a printer-run-amok and spitting nonesense out, page after page after page, word after word after word. It’s the code of the matrix that has gone bonkers, the program that has exploded in a flurry of pop-ups and porn filling your screen. Sometimes it seems to never end as it keeps coming, one after another, duties, responsibilities, tests, blah. Othertimes, it seems to just all. Stop.

I don’t know where I intend to go with this piece. I’ve attempt to “stream” stuff, but the rocks that are people have been getting in the way, breaking off my concentration and directing it elsewhere. I guess that can be a fun and exciting journey in itself somtimes, even if it detracts me from the original direction I am intending to head. That’s the beauty of the stream, I guess: you can put stuff in its way, but once it makes its conventional splash or slight turn of current, it will return to where it came from and move as a single massive rush, running towards the horizon that is Ocean. Don’t ask what it is doing going in that direction, towards that great uncertainty called ocean. Just enjoy its flow and watch it run. Then meet with it at the ocean and watch it destroy your sandcastle.