freewheel_lyrics epitome of incomprehensibility Here's the idea: automatic-ish writing something that sounds like song lyrics. Snow We are looking for the north. You are sitting like the south Lives in silence. Cumbersome And dyadic mothballs Mark the doors of pines And all I want to tell the window? You're mine. This could be the problem. That could be the line That breaks the camel's back And the city sidewalk crack: Heroin on a pedestal, CPC cakewalks in pink newsprint in Concordia's dotted past. Dot-matrix in the spoon Of the desert of Montreal And you could really be tall If you bothered to turn it off. Take it all off, even the lies, and I'll guarantee A+ with elastic compromise, elastic compromise. 220418 ... e_o_i Yeah, that makes no sense, but I can trace associations: -Snow disappearing from March to April -The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe -Someone writing in an exam that I marked for Intro to Engl. Lit. at Brock: "in Jane Eyre, the heroin is the narrator" or similar -Reading an interview with a band called CPC Gangbangs in a Concordia student paper; one guy said he didn't mean the name to be literally about drugs or sex, but about being a "mindfuck" -A pun-full poem I wrote about The Matrix when I was a teenager -The old-school printers in old schools with very thin paper that had perforated margins (perforated with tiny dots so you could tear them, but also with hole-punch-sized holes in the middle of those margins) The things you remember! 220418 ... e_o_i Once this actually worked, and I composed part of this verse in an afternoon (for a song called "Sweet Nostalgia"): You're my shock and awe You're shocking awesome Shock is cheap But I like bargains And you're hot, I want some Global warming up I want some practice For the past I want my sweet nostalgia back But usually, at least for me, stream_of_consciousness isn't the same as automatic_writing: stream of consciousness is about creating the effect of a train of thought, and often it takes very conscious concentration and reworking. 220418 ... raze the finest friends i've misinformed are taking notes and growing warm i'd kiss a filthy envelope and wash my own mouth out with soap if only you would listen to the words i haven't said oh, blessed be the weary ones the understated, leery ones i haven't even met you yet but you're a stylish marmoset i know it like a bat knows ice like every instant brokers rice i found it in a pocket lacking lint you fret about the future while i bathe in apple mint two casters diamond cut and forged from steel we're leaning how to beg for what we can't afford to feel 230324 what's it to you? who go blather from