Stream of Consciousness


I have long forgotten what it feels like to write in proestry, a language which carries no inhibition, no restrains, but the cheerful flow of ardent thoughts in all shapes and forms. No syntax, no grammar rules, but the natural flow of feelings and emotions gushing out from the innermost self.

My inspiration was one little girl who had the mind to break free from convention. I learned from her that it’s all about letting your thoughts and imagination run wild and free.

As I write this piece a little squirrel scurries on the roof beam gnawing at the wood and looking anxiously cautious. Prying on me once in a while to check whether my moves can cause a threat.

I have grown sick and tired reading it from top to bottom and so let the menacing grammar errors remain as they wish, for I shall stride forward in this stream of consciousness. This chilly weather might be the reason why I’m feeling all up to write and write and write all day long, and even dance and sing sometimes with the doors closed. The reason why I feel romantic and poetic, the reason why I feel I can do much better than yesterday and day before. And the rhymes, my god, it comes with so much ease. Words fail me but not so my feelings, if there be no words to describe what I feel, then… then I shall make my own.


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