Saturday, September 01, 2007
An experimental writing form
Meditations on Love
The sound of hungry metal amidst the cool breeze of recycled air condition. My mind wanders aimlessly reaching as i grasp at a form not yet known to me. Shapes, chocolates, a heart and others float aimlessly by. As i peer wearily into the very page which i pen, i attempt to free my mind from an earlier form as i note down all that comes to mind. Shapes smells and such. Here it begins. Amidst the gentle humming of a familiar tune, rapture in the form of wind and memories swept into my head as i glance carelessly into the not so distant past. A familiar smell, blue, colours as i breathe deeply into myself as i open a box of passion. Memories, vague but powerful. I felt tears, pouring emotions, longings in the form of angel wings, an embrace and a certain promise made under the stars - a distant memory of love, of things promised made and forgotten. My train of thought plunges into the gaze of a star sending emotions upon th every sacred text as i begin to realise the power of such a style of writing. To capture in the entirety of one's thoughts in its endlessness, in all its honesty. Ice cream, roses and that gentle stroll down sorrow's path, a celebration of tears that perhaps will pour endlessly until there is no more. Colours upon colours as transient pastel starts shone for you briefly and fleetingly as i wrote endlessly like the day to reach you. Such an alien form unrestricted by time, context, waltz and rhythm and purpose of the form. A mere stream in flux, a ripple in time. A tingling, a longing and a ostensible pain which aches from the time you part. The resounding crash of glasses when you so firmly did, with a glass heart, and the memories ever trapped so deeply inside it. The text serves no purpose save to record the fleeting and random permutations of the conscious thought in a mundane contextualisation. Through the means of transience. As i glance from side to side, through the flux of endless flow so and so, like Freud's talking cure as i begin to work away the pain. Free associations associated to love posited and become sited in the past rather then the present. Time for a present is ceaseless, waiting for no one, perhaps this lost work will never be transcribed and its consequence forever lost in time's flow much unseen in time's float much less the works of a madman's endless scribbling. A mere drop in an ocean of elite canonical text. The most banal text relaying a child's play discourse never covering actuality to the tense. A topic concerning love that brings to mind insecurity, departures, shearing pain,you, and memories of stars. Welcome to my stream of consciousness.
Joey
Posted by Jo