You spend a lot of time going 'and then what did I think?' and 'what should I think of next, wait, I can't do that.' Eliminating all of that stuff though, here is what I think is a running rhetoric of my forty minute walk as I enjoyed my day.
No shoes, I took them, but they weren't used. Tied to my pants with a small ribbon. Pink and overly cutesy, a wrapper from my care package by my niece. We're so different, despite only 6 years age in between. The difficulty of walking while taking notes on what you're thinking. The difficulty of writing stream of consciousness while concentrating on it. As I write down the last thing, new things pop up in my mind. I hope I don't get mistaken by zombies, running around in the woods. Broken bottle remains of a Saint Patrick's Day. Saint and alcohol. Wisdom in a beer bottle. Rocky and dry paths are better than the cold moist mud of the forest.
I sat by the stream ad tossed in rocks, smooth granite or crystal, so unlike the rocks already in place. What is this equivalent of? (edit: talking about the reading where James talks about there can be debris in the stream, vivid memories from the past, but free water still flows around them.) False planted memories, the rocks eroding and far down stream a geologist finds stares at the granules with confusion. "This wasn't here before. Was it just uncovered from it's shale cage or has it been tossed in by those looking for the thrill of a splash." But I never actually sat down, it was all in my head, nor had the rocks to toss, though I paused to linger in the cool air of a place where the sun left behind and taste that smell that only the damp spaces have: laughing as a small boy and a my little pony floated down the stream in a popcorn bucket. That didn't happen either.
I don't think of death or taxes, nor any philosophy, only where best to place my poor toes. Why am I singing this out in my head? [The packet] speaks of consciousness flowing together to 'erase' the empty times where you don't think. I wonder if this is happening as I chase rivulets of water down the river with my eyes. What happened in my head the last five minutes? I don't enjoy standing in the middle of travel ways, I feel like a car is going to come and hit me. Even if I am down a walking path on a foot bridge. I've been here once before, Thanksgiving break. Untouched, but smothered, the snow was think and undisturbed, only ruined as I walked across it, carefully leaving footprints so it looked like someone should still be on the island, even after I'd left. It is an experience I have never again enjoyed, even as I try at every snowfall, but it is remembered. [Addressing the packet where James talks about never having the same reaction twice, despite the similarities.] Stairs to nowhere. To nowhere? Well, to a bush, not exactly nowhere. But a bush isn't no where. When you have arguments in your head, do you already know the answer? I seem to surprise myself. That feeling you get when you see something structurally strange and you want to go jump on it to see if it's structurally sound, and yet, you'll only try it if you already know the answer. I was too bored to read the memorial after the first sentence. Feet growing cold, but I still refuse to put on shoes. Where is the fun if you can't poke cold toes at your boyfriend in vengeance for not joining you due to video games. Water only looks like glass until you drop it off a cliff. Afterwards, I have the strange desire to stick my toes in it. I'll head back.
I'm plagued by the desire to write 'cheese', though ridiculous and unrelated. That's ironic. HIPSTER!! My feet to home, my mind lists the things I still have to do. I'll spare you. I'll spare myself. Survival of the Fittest. I snapped out of S of C when I realized I was doing it. Is that possible? Was startled by a person running, on a sidewalk, the nerve. Too caught up in recording. People in the car like my pants. Probably not, they're yelling at everyone. Skepticism. I'm going to have trouble reading this [this is the actually the first sentence i really had trouble reading...] No room. Same runner from earlier. Did I mention him? No, I was on pants. I wonder if everyone yells stuff at him as he runs. That's why America is really obese.
Congrats if you actually read all of that. I think I got all of my thoughts and connected to the packet solely by accident. Welcome to my mind!
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