Nothing to say at the moment.
Tired.
Uninspired.
Uninspiring.
Tiresome.
Tiring.
Trying and yet not trying.
Vacant but without the flashing sign.
Less busy than a vagrant.
Avoiding toil.
Shuffling off the mortal coil.
Not industrious enough to achieve such monuments.
Pause.
Slow.
Stop.
Inventiveness diminished by lack of imagination.
Foolish to attempt such writing now.
Driven by ego, a seeking of approval.
No identity can be derived from such nonsense.
Pause.
Stop.
Slow.
Thinking, now, of something important to say.
Pause.
Pause.
Pause.
Checking spelling.
In the absence of content.
This activity, the only one with meaning.
Pause.
Stop.
Pause.
Waiting for some meaning to come.
Like shit hitting a fan.
or even something less impressive.
Pause.
Absence.
Waiting.
Waiting.
No shit.
No meaning.
Waiting.
Pause.
There is no shit thrower in the universe.
Even thought there is a fan.
Even though there is shit.
No, that was not the important thing.
Begin now to focus,
like when you're drunk
and someone asks you a question, you really want to answer in a clever way.
Foolish thoughts.
But like Dylan, Thomas not Bob, a lucid moment that might in daylight be worth keeping.
Towards the end, a good place.
Here goes.
A blank line or two to set the tone.
Who among you are honest enough to be foolish?
And through your foolishness grow into a wisdom.
Didn't really hit the mark, did it?
------
Over the years I have played around with the stream of consciousness idea and have a kind of 'love hate thing' with it. There is an immediacy and movement to it that I like but the confessional and self absorbing nature of it can at times appear a little 'teenage' which is fine when you are a teenager but loses its appeal as you begin to push forty.
Nonetheless I thought I would share this as it addresses my recent dearth of postings but also a more general angst I have regarding if I have anything of importance to offer. The answer it would seem is nothing.
