When I was in college I was finished with all of my finals and was in the library with a friend. In order to pass the time, I decided to grab a piece of paper and write. Interestingly, when I was finished I had a great stream of consciousness example of what one may think when trying to write.
I sit and slowly fade into a meaningless nothing. No one around me seems to notice as I endlessly pass from one forgotten world to the next with the stroke of my hand, my next thought to come as unknown as the thought before.
The changes are slow as the clock ticks faster than my mind has a chance to get into gear. The sense should be lost and free form flowing like the passing tides, but I'm always returned to the halting problem of time elasped.
I shouldn't return to my place before to try and conjure up some new pathway, but rather to take a new path with each pen stroke as ideas form and are made real.
Each new idea is formed before and settles. Sometimes it is used while other times it is either discarded or forgotten but when forgotten perhaps the initial memory still prevails and forces me to continue on my never started, never ending quest.
Then the pen drops, the ink flows and all, if not most is made somewhat real.
cj84'
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