“Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.” – E.L. Doctorow.
I read an idea from The Daily Post that suggested free writing for 10 minutes. No editing, no reading back on what has already been written, hit submit and walk away.
Why not? Could be fun. Welcome to the wide, open expanse of my mind. It’s chaos in here.
Grab your popcorn, take the seat on the left, and enjoy the show.
Why did I decide to do this? I will either have the least interesting things to type up or I will let some deep, dark Freudian secret out, and either way I will wish I wasn’t doing this exact thing that is still happening on here. Bah.
That chicken smells amazing. I wish I was eating and not typing this. I can’t believe I got behind in my posting and need to catch up on so many. Oh well, this is one of them now. Great. Real good blog for the old portfolio. This might be more interesting if I could just stoping thinking about blogging itself. I need to change tracks.
That video where the people get killed by monster trucks.
That was unfortunate.
Don’t sit in the front row at a monster truck event.
Wish I was sleeping.
I should stop tying in this form so that this post isn’t four feet long.
Can a blog post ever be measured by feet?
Funny how everyone’s feet are the same length as their forearm.
I wonder how many people who read this just awkwardly tried to put their foot on their forearm.
WELL, good news, if you did do that I wasn’t lying. It’s a thing. So is the thing where your arm span is the same as your height or something like that.
Holy balls. It’s only been four minutes. Great Scott. Back to the Future! So good. I should re-watch that. And Jurassic Park. And probably Father of the Bride.
Halfway done. 5 minutes left.
Dun dun dun dun dun dun dun. I’m trying to type what is happening in my brain. I was looking at the little curser blink for a second and pretended we were making dub step together.
So, that happened.
Maybe five minutes of free writing is enough. Maybe I’m not supposed to be typing as fast as I am and that’s why it feels that time is never ending.
TIME. What a concept. I can’t imagine not existing anymore. I can’t imagine that there are still so many versions of my face that I will see in the mirror. I feel like I am me, and that I have always looked like this (even though I haven’t but can’t tell until I look back) and that I will never look like anything else.
But I will. I will be wrinkly and grey. GODDAMNIT. I wrote ‘gray’ FIVE times and it changed it to ‘fray’ each time.
GET YOURSELF TOGETHER WORDPRESS. THIS IS YOUR JOB.
Job. I will be at the staff meeting in eight hours. I wish I had a hoodie with me. It’s so cold.
trolling so hard right now, what is this post even about?
Meta extestentialist writing and I hate it so much. Extastentialist. Let’s see how many times I have to type this word before I figure it out without spellcheck: existentialist. I DID IT. Wow. So pr-#soproud. That’s right; it deserved its own hashtag. A hashtag which is flawed in its use since it can never be linked to anything within a post.
54 seconds left.
The moon landing.
That would have been cool to be a part of.
I wonder if I will still be alive when people ACTUALLY live on Mars.