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Let's write a stream of consciousness. Open up word, set an alarm for ten minutes and start writing. Don't try to focus your thoughts and just type down what comes to your mind. Don't write anymore after the alarm sets off and the if you want, correct all the typos but nothing more. After that post it here.
This is mine:
Upon the breath of dragons came the smoldering corpses of planets which look through the glass that witches spoke through in times forgotten by all the apes that would constantly stare at the number seven. I didn’t like the attitude of some Cambodian missionaries who would row through the seas on the back of mountains and aligned with them all were much too few different severed bodies of the apocalypse which should fall before all the chains tying the roots of the earth. I didn’t bring much alcohol to fill all the bottles that would stick out beneath the salt sea of magnitude. When I lived in the watchtower I heard the constant clanking of processors built through the divine methods of molecular epitaxy past by the robots who created the human race. In the meanwhile I was driving a car which had no lights and could not expect how many of us would see the faces of pigeons reflected in our windows. Elvis lives and before he was a dinosaur he lived amongst Satan and Hephaestus creating black holes which encountered all the immortal races of the galaxy. The lives went on and the smoldering corpses were buried beneath witches and defecated upon and I liked the sweat scent of nice voluptuous women who would enwrap me with their sweaters which would lead to hesitant suffocation. I could not look either of them in the eye because I chose not to swear in public. We would not see how many of them were infantile and how many of them had rabbits growing from their claws. They could not produce evidence of all the crimes committed against the Polish people beneath all the stars that could have forged the first computers. Not only was it a myth that my head was enslaved beneath the sand by Jackie Chan who could ride the ocean waves on his bike it would also be fair to suspect that none of them lied to me when they were making up all the falsehoods that produced mankind’s first origin spirits. It was not known whether or not I would like to be thought of as a person that could go on without trying and know the shapes of buildings by looking upon them. It would seem obvious to me that I was beneath a sky that shouted all the names of the bands that made Loveless a thing and none of the noises breathing on my skin.
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More like two minutes, but -
There's some rancid comfort to this bowl of rice crispies asleep in my palm. I feel the flex of my wrist so differently than when I found myself committing adultery with an unfamiliar grasp. Reading attic poetry while watching dota streams is a perfect blend of high brow and low brow, like Shakespeare, or so I see myself seeing. But you don't know see the seeing, which is where Descartes was wrong.
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Three minutes here.
I've got the shingles and when the chips are down I wiull fight tooth and nail with a board of wood over a catfish. Charms and cancers are writ upon the sky full of Jews and merriment, and there lies a conundrum. Is life matter or what matter is life? Anger befits no one. James Joytce Jingles Jollily upon paper writ with dreams. Morgoth is a location in the Lord of the Rings I think that maybe doesn't appear. Kill the death of all man. Damnation upon those who would dare suggest that my creme puffs are brittle and sunken with the weight of apostrophes. Fingering the banged man within the childre. Jingoism. Jingoism. National soviets of Zengief road warrior Hawk. Criminals are a suiperfluous and cowardly lot, filled with thoughts and dreams of gastly deeds and grim reports in the darkness of the night.
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Clock on 4 min
The cluster of black vigils in a white plain was all there was in my mind. I weaved that sweater I've never weaved before with blood on my hands. That is what it was, a abnormally bad human at motor skills. But I didn't sweat, I just stayed on my seat, and kept weaving the sweater.
What was the meaning of those vigils I wondered, but weary with the weaving and wandering; faltering into observation, yet more of a contemplation, a form of admiration of indifference.
How would've I ever known.
The black vigils were notes to a white pentagram, and the blood on my hands were humble sounds into the naught.
I weaved but weary music into a plain world.
That music will never hear herself.
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test post, to see if I'm still banned
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clamming up,dead, deviod of pulse, listless and sawdust shells, scrapping the mortal time you spent howling at whatever moon you found.
and i, the ageless shithead from beyond the bottle found you before you you began to rot. i pulled the roots of your hair and breathed heavy in hot tepid stink down your back.
where did the hostility come from? now where you are is where you started and God hides in the rafters. I am drunk as a skunk in non-existence, and my time is running out. i never asked for this.
you died first, the choking dream of every spouse and i helped move you and lift you from bed to bed when you could not walk. where is the poison? will it come now, will it float down into my stomach and fester forever? will the cancer spread to me? can the cancer spread to me?
you jumped the train and now i'm going to jump out in front it when it pulls around.
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well, I just broke the status quo and she had bare feet and a light summer dress and I could smell her perfume pretty strongly and it was nice, sitting next to her on the curb in front of her house, hidden from the sun in the shade of bushes, the sky was blue and there were fast moving white clouds in the sky and I told her that I love her and then we talked about the realities of dating and nothing came from it but at least I was rid of this burden I was on and off carrying for years and suddenly I was free and the burden was on her, which was quite selfish in retrospect but who cares, I walked downhill whistling some stupid love song by this Slovak band and she went back to packing and now she is gone and I ordered a beer in the nearest pub and drank it and then I went to take a piss and oh wow there was no sadness in my eyes, the sadness that was there ever since I can remember, no, they were normal eyes and the corners of my mouth were shooting upwards randomly and unexpectedly and well that for some reason reminds me of our mutual friend that decided to bury her dead imaginary child when she was 15 and we went to the train tracks and we stood by a bush and she read the eulogy Roland says when Jake dies and then she cried a little, the last time I cried I was drunk and angry and I just laid there among my sleeping friends with tears streaming down my face realizing that I have wasted my life and that I am just a fraction of the man I thought I was and that there in no hope but now I am hopeful
>6 minutes
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