Wednesday, May 9, 2012
stream of consciousness experiment: part one
and it is said that he said that the world as a whole will not fathom the craze of lubricant, and it is five in the morning and I bear, dear one, that whatever it is on your mind, you should say it. She said, why did you not capitaliza 'and' in that last sentence, and why did you spell capitalize wrong and leave it there? And two figures borne of earth and wind came and said, because fleets are fleets and it is showering outside. Rain and fleets, pickled beets, raving beats, raging meats. Too many people die. People die often. I wonder if beats die. But I don't think beats die because music never dies? I don't think music ever dies. Music is a hard and depressing concept sometimes. It's almost my mortal enemy and best friend at the same time; I cannot truly describe it. I wonder what other people think. I wonder what professional performers think. I wonder who ever actually follows their hearts anymore. It's difficult people people always do things for the fame anymore. I never get fame because I'm unnoticeable. People ignore me a lot. Am I nothing? I don't really think so. People have tried to tell me that before. I don't really think so. I keep staring off to the side because I'm trying to think of words that won't come out of me properly. I'm trying to make them come out of their hiding place. Maybe it's true that someone stole them, that someone stole away with my words. I read that phrase in a Terry Pratchett novel once. It was one I never finished. I Shall Wear Midnight, it was. Silvia once tried to talk to me when she noticed the Terry Pratchett novel I took to class with me and I barely responded back and now I might never see her again except in the bakery back in my hometown, every once in a while. I keep thinking about the meringue cookies that they sell there and how much better they are than the organic kockoffs I bought from the grocery store (it's funny how I typo'd 'knockoff' and I'm leaving it like that).