This is a stream of consciousness exercise, so words might not be spelled correctly and punctuation might not be perfect, (if, in fact, it ever is on this blog). Enjoy.
The Art of the Word: A Stream of Consciousness exercise.
The end of May brings a sense of closure to my poor besotted soul. Herein lies the darkest hour of the night and the tides of yearning to froth and rumble with an almost visceral tenor.
Laying awake at night, I sense the overwhelming need to run as fast as my broken legs can carry me. Run, fat boy, run. Whizz through the trees and see, with your own eyes, the feral look of the tiger as it leaps and rends and consumes the raw, salty blood of the prey.
Away. Away and never to see the sight, for locked away in the dark receses of th emind lies the real truth of me. The truth no one sees, nor I doubnt it overmuch suspects, lest they be more cunning than I think.
No more talk of h. . . , I mean, that which is buried beneath the layers.for they rest there awaiting the day when they can emerge and be seen in the light of day as surely as the perceived persona doth type with the tic-tacery of the lion awaiting the deer in the forest. tic-tac tic-tac fingers press down words abound. the laughing clown rides a broom
water is good.
It’s always interesting to go back after writing a stream of consciousness exercise and see what came out. I enter into a trance almost and just let the words flow out of me. I wonder what I meant when I wrote those words? What do you think?