Trying to make sense of this mess today, this is what my stream writing looks like sometimes. I do manage to throw in some minimal punctuation to signal a pause, but more often than not it’s just about getting the thought into OmmWriter before it disappears from my head. This is one of the unfortunate side effects (amongst others) of my medication, I find it has affected my short-term memory, but it’s a price I will gladly pay.
I would also like to recommend OmmWriter to anyone reading this. It’s a minimalist word processor for Mac with a non existent interface and no spell check, it’s just you and a blank page (non white). This is particularly handy for someone who like myself is slightly OCD, it also plays soothing sounds in the background which I find helps me focus. There are similar programs available for PC for the awesome price of zero, nada, gratis!
I apologize for the complete bastardization of the English language.
when I was young there were questions that haunted me – how to calculate the number of sand grains on the very beach where I spent my summers squinting my eyes making prisms from light aided by the sun my only friend other than the salt water questions, like “is the ocean alive” it seemed to breathe you see always welcoming me even decades later after I abandoned it and returning as a man only to assume the same position on the sand perfectly still breathing in salt and-the sound of its breath of the current pulling like a inhale and the evenual crash of water like the breath of a lover at dawn in my adulthood there were questions that haunted me you see there were stars above our tents and cicadas in the pine forrest and I often wondered about their finite number while I listened to crashing waves downwind from a netted window when we camped three months at a time in sweltering heat there were questions and an atraction to that body of water that engulfed me at first light and sometimes at dawn even though crab snipped at my toes at the sand’s edge of that dark matter now so subdued in the night a mirror for the night sky merelly a pause before day break when I could hardly wait for the blinding gaze of sunlight wrapping at the cloth of our canvas tents-There were cool nights when my parents and I walked the shore hand in hand in thick sweaters to watch fishermen pull their nets-on one such night one handed me a sea horse-still alive-pulsating its armor like flesh-curling its tail-I placed it in a bucket that night as i couldn’t bare to kill it-only to find it asphyxiated in the fresh water the next morning