I’ve been wanting to write a stream of consciousness for a long ass time and I think this kind of writing is super important. Trying to construct our thoughts into the structure and format that we want sometimes edits out the most dangerous, the most raw, the most true aspects of my writing and I suspect of other’s writing as well. Here goes:
The door was splintering as they were smashing it crashing it with a broken mirror and a tin can. I didn’t know things that were that fragile could carry the power of a battering ram or could crack the face of porcelain man while he’s curled up crying like a crippled lion and dying in the light of the wildfire that’s climbing the ladder to his tree house where he camps out sinking his teeth into the leather binding of the kill. His fangs puncturing the pages that plead patience but that’s the way that ink teeth fall on the page. the fire is making its way to the lions den because it can smell the gasoline drip drip dripping from the lion’s leaking maw cause lead that has burrowed its way from muzzle to muzzle has left the massive muscles shorn from their anchors. Little lion men, make that dying men, always burning walking spirits of flame that think they can tame the mane that they think they can cut from the nape of the main man in the plain that they infiltrated because they take what they can from the land that they lay claim to like they were natives like their names are inscribed on the mountains and boulders and lions like they could write their name on the sun net it up and swallow it up. Thank god the sun can burn them away because they’re patiently waiting till they can reach it and stab it with the sharp end of a flag and take a flying leap for (white) mankind. How dare you mistake a man for the sun. believe me i can burn you blind if you try to take the hydrogen violently exploding in me dont try to corrode my fire. You cant bottle lightning so fight me look me in the fucking eye as you try to break my eye contact, step back because you lack the power to make me bow and your just a flashbang waiting to be swallowed and spit up into the light of the sun. You can’t blind me with your artificial light, I’ve got sight and you might think that you could break me and win but im a sun lion and a stallion you’ll need a battalion of broke nose, rotten teeth sin grin, men that been licking the dirt that stick to the boots of their God, to bear down on me like a garbage masher. Too bad the trash that you mean to compact can compact back and slap the newtons out of the metal walls that make to break. Next time you line up in formation like the british at lexington, think about it before you start a war and before you try to snap the back of a spine that breaks back.
Well. that happened. I ended up sitting in a kind of rap rhythm. I’ve never written with that kind of rhythm. Honestly I’ve never written anything that was stream of consciousness. Hope you liked it! I feel like Diego will especially appreciate this.