S.O.C.

We all knew this was going to happen eventually...

This post is going to be stream of conscious because I have migraine aura (is that what it’s called) and I don’t have anything else in me at the moment, and also I kind of like what ends up coming out of me when I do s.o.c. writing, so here we go. I’m sitting in my office looking out at the grey-looking water which is reflecting the grey-looking clouds—the clouds look very captivating somehow, like they are the boundary to something important—this is occurring in a way I can’t describe will, but because the ezpanse of sky goes on and on and the cloud cover is reflected by the water, it has the effect of feeling both limited and limitless somehow—it feels like a container? A limitless container. Here—here’s a picture

Aren’t those clouds so cool? and containing-looking?

And here’s a video for good measure.

Isn’t that lighthouse in the distance cool?

The sky is getting darker and I need to be on my way—Carlos wants to eat soon, and I should nurse my little head (which seems to be feeling better I think, maybe?) but I did have a few thoughts about this project that wanted to come out of me and this is as good a place as any. Let’s see, what were they?

They aren’t surfacing. I wonder if they got scared. I wonder if this is so dumb. I always wonder that when I do s.o.c. I just realized I hadn’t been following the rules perfectly—when I do this perfectly I write everything down no matter what and I hadn’t engaged with that level of focus, but now I am—I can feel my focus zoning in, zoning into this exact moment and to my fingers here, typing, and the words forming themselves on the bright white screen before me. Carlos just sent another text and my anxiety is wanting me to pick up my phone to see what he is saying (he will feel so neglected) but no, I shan’t! I shall remain true to this tiny intention for at least a few more minutes—until 7:50 (it is now 7:47.) Should I do a new paragraph?

Yes I think I will. (Overlayed thought about how boring this is; that thought comes from my inner Censor, or inner saboteur—the one who wants me (ope—almost let some thoughts go by—was trying to determine the correct gender of the Censor, and she fit best, but then I wondered if that would look weird, so I de-genderized the sentence)—as I was saying, the one who wants me to give up on this whole project; the one whose solution to fears about boring people is to simply never write anything again (um, Censor, what is more boring: a stream of consciousness blob of text, or a blank screen? Answer me THAT.)

I have one minute before I pick up my phone, text Carlos back, then upload the picture I took of the enchanting sky. Is there anything else my subconscious or conscious wants to say? (Unformed question about why stream of conscious is not actually called stream of sub-conscious—or whether one fits this exercise better than the other).

Okay, time has been reached.

Anyone still with me? If so, thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for reading the words I am putting out into the world. Even when they are desperate and a little corner cutty. Even when my censor says they’re boring. (I think my censor is a she, btw. Nope. Both. Non-binary! Just like me! :-) )

Love you all,

Joshua