I tried stream of consciousness writing once, back before I knew what anything was, and it wasn't very good. So I did it again and enough interesting thoughts came out that it's not too embarassing:

Like the set for some movie sent down from heaven where the funds ran out about halfway through, discontented cast and crew with coffee stains on faces, wrinkled lines in sides of faces, tumbleweeds across the dusty stage with everyone standing around, confused, watching.

Shaking a stick in the middle of the grass, everyone not knowing but knowing but refusing to acknowledge their own beats and sticks. Everyone rips off clothes, sense of own mortality and smear shit on walls, proclaiming mortality and invincibility just because we’re not supposed to be mortal and invincible. It’s all coming down, it’s all fleshy, it’s being taken away.

Slamming table against wall again and again and again.

Like priests marching around the altar of some sacrifice, holy but not knowing it because they’re laughing and they can’t just sit the fuck still and not think anything and not do anything, no one knows why they’re walking, just lay down in the middle of everything and people will proclaim because the most important statement anyone can make is no statement at all because simply the essence of being, one point of concentrated space in time, is more powerful than all the words in the world set together, and all the arcane energy that they create can’t begin to touch the beauty of one unhindered moment.

Ultimate irony that you can’t feel your own warmth, but you don’t have to touch another to feel human, it’s all there. In the trees, like they just don’t care, like you’re an insignificant nothing but you love them anyway because they SIMPLY ARE and you SIMPLY ARE even though it’ll take years and years to realize that you SIMPLY ARE.