"Automatic" Writing
So, my English teacher had us do this "automatic writing", which was pretty much just us writing whatever first came to our minds. Needless to say, this made for lots of laughs, considering all of our brains are incredibly creative and highly bizarre.
Mine, for instance, came out making sense to myself in some parts, and no sense at all in others. I feel I am taking a bold move in sharing this with the internet, but it's only a teensy sliver of my mind as an entirety, so I'm not too worried.
~~~
There is blue. Blue everywhere. So many different shades of blue it's hard to keep track. I'm not entirely sure what it all means. I like to pretend I do, but I don't.
Courageous flowers speak bold words nobody hears. And in the starry nights, sometimes our eyes become achromic with the delight of the world. I'd like to think so.
My doubts float around me in endless spectacles of fog and I hardly have the time to tamper with them.
Carnival streets have become packed with bones. Honestly, they mean nothing to me. And yet, people who don't care cause me to cringe. It's like they're not even safe.
We sit in fool proof bungalows under a spacious sky. Or is it over?
The vast space of constitution in my mind is tremendous but sometimes it frightens me. I am a bucket constantly being filled, but I'd like to think of myself as a chalice.
Sometimes I dream of penguins holding hands. Penguins don't have hands.
Perhaps we should speak in slurs to cover up our desires. Perhaps we should seek refuge in a watery cave somewhere in Atlantis.
Mine, for instance, came out making sense to myself in some parts, and no sense at all in others. I feel I am taking a bold move in sharing this with the internet, but it's only a teensy sliver of my mind as an entirety, so I'm not too worried.
~~~
There is blue. Blue everywhere. So many different shades of blue it's hard to keep track. I'm not entirely sure what it all means. I like to pretend I do, but I don't.
Courageous flowers speak bold words nobody hears. And in the starry nights, sometimes our eyes become achromic with the delight of the world. I'd like to think so.
My doubts float around me in endless spectacles of fog and I hardly have the time to tamper with them.
Carnival streets have become packed with bones. Honestly, they mean nothing to me. And yet, people who don't care cause me to cringe. It's like they're not even safe.
We sit in fool proof bungalows under a spacious sky. Or is it over?
The vast space of constitution in my mind is tremendous but sometimes it frightens me. I am a bucket constantly being filled, but I'd like to think of myself as a chalice.
Sometimes I dream of penguins holding hands. Penguins don't have hands.
Perhaps we should speak in slurs to cover up our desires. Perhaps we should seek refuge in a watery cave somewhere in Atlantis.
I feel like this is someone talking in their sleep. Love it!
ReplyDelete