PART I
(Preface: I wrote this last night (or very early this morning) but I was in a very peculiar frame of mind. In retrospect it must have been a paint-chipping-away kind of frame but what I wanted to do was try something different - to write completely free-style without any thought for punctuation, spelling or grammatical norms. It was refreshing to be sure, but I’m still not quite sure how I feel about it. There is a bit of a darker undercurrent even if it does sound like a load of gibberish.)
Sand, sandy, sandiest.
Dripping through your fingers, blowing through your hair.
It’s all around us, it is nowhere.
I own it, but I have nothing.
There is too much, too little, always. Never.
Like antipasto and past – are you still hungry?
How can you be full? What is full? What is empty? What is it?
We try to control everything, always, sense of comfort, sense of familiarity.
(Stream of consciousness)
The aberrance drives us nuts, one small defector from the plan.
But:
Maybe we should stop.
Stop.
Stop.
Let it all go. Go right, go left, go wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
All wrong.
Is this right?
The world is too structured. Subject, object, verb, stop. Sentence, stop. Paragraph, stop.
Can we think without the backbone? Can we conceptualize without the map?
What happens if we are left with nothing. Then everything. What difference does it make. Does it make it the same.
So...
Is this still a question if it doesn’t have a question mark.
?
When it all goes wrong then, and only then, can it finally go left.
Left.
Left.
Left behind.
Left in front. Preposition in apposition. Why is the dative sympathetic?
Why why y?
Y, x, w
W?
W!
Who, whose, whom. Huh?
Lol... rofl...brb...ttyl... our new lexicon
As empty as the space in the middle of the o. Oh, oh?
Uh oh.
Onomatopoeia. Pffft. Psh. Pshaw. Ugh. Argh. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh......
Ellipses... or Stop.
.
.
.
Then go.
Go.
Go where?
Here + w, that’s where. No, that’s here. There – t. Pess-optimism.
Naw
Hey... hay is for horses.
I didn’t see the plumber but I saw the Culligan Man crack.
Bottled water, bottled air, where is the bottled peace? Piece, peas.
Snow peas, chick peas, black eyed peas, cheese please.
Is this still my poetic licence to write what I want if I’ve not registered and I am no poet?
Is this still art if it lacks artistic license?
Is this still writing if I haven’t written anything?
Writers block. Blocked, block, block of cheese.
In my way.
Let’s see how long this gets, are you still reading?
You don’t have to read this. I had no other ideas. The light bulb is in my closest – the station light is still flickering. Maybe I only imagined that I got on the train. Maybe it did fall. Fall, winter, spring summer... onto my head. How do I know? I didn’t hurt.
Should I post this grand mess of a blog post? What if you stop reading now? What if no one follows? Will I still write? Right? Wrong.
I hope you laugh, this if funny. Fun, funny, funnier, funniest. Fun sounds funny when you say it so many times. Times, times, Times New Roman. My font. Font. Elephant.
This irritates me. Iratus... means angry in Latin, I think. Ire. Ire. Iron ore. Or. Or?
Why do I keep writing this if it makes me mad? Mad. Crazy. Insane? Outsane?
Hmmm... hummmm... mhmmm...
Oh, I hear the geese honking outside. Must be too late and now it’s early. Where’s the logic in that. Stop.
Geese, goose, gooses. Goo. Goop. Google. Goggle. Go. Gag. Gaggle of Geese.
Blech. Bleach. Blue. Blew. Flew. Flu. To. Too. Two. You, u. Y?
U c?
O, I c. I don’t even need the whole word. SO
Why dno’t I jsut witre like tihs? You can slitl raed it. I can siltl type it. Wrdos are jsut ltetres rgraenraed. (rearranged – i made it too messy.) i don’t want to ‘shift’ anymore. why bother, the document will fix it for me.
i ramble. in shambles. in brambles.
what is an epic fail? This? Peace of writing? That’s not a mistake. I meant it. Peace of writing, world piece. Piece of cake. Psh.
No.
Wow. Ow. W. Y. I dunno. I yes. THAT’S the problem
Where’s my Muse?
Where is my mind?
I’m out of my mind – and I locked the keys inside. Inside, side, slide ,in inn.....
No comments:
Post a Comment