stream of consciousness dribble drivel

I am obsessed with the idea of stream of consciousness writing. well ever since I read ‘on the road’ by jack Kerouac and for almost the first time in my life I was so smitten with a writer that I literally walked the streets of santa monica walking and reading at the same time because I could NOT PUT IT DOWN. and then natalie Goldberg and her writing prompts that prompted be to go go go to a timer and not care for grammar/spelling/handwriting/punctuation. and then ee cummings with his lack of regard for capitalization or punctuation. and then james joyce who I have learned more about lately and whose book ‘ulysses’ really set the stage for listening to the rambling roll of nonsense in our brains and pinning it down to paper or screen. I love all of this. and i’m not entirely sure why except that I think I go so often in my life bombarded by the rest of the world’s thoughts feelings images comments innuendoes asides sneers smirks double meanings opinions judgements exclusions overlookings that I end up focusing so much on the outside that I forget what’s going on on the inside and then when you forget what’s happening there then that sweet little inner child gets more and more ignored and neglected and irate and confused and it takes a lot of time to untangle the messy head of hair that they’ve accumulated thus far by being ignored for so long. so I don’t want to ignore that little inner child. it needs attention too and that is why I do this. to remember who I am. to honor the little voice inside of me that gets squashed and stamped and pushed away in the name of being civilized and polite and respectful and honorable and appropriate 99.9999% of the time. too much of our life is spent fitting in the box. the page is the one place I finally allow myself to slip out of the box and let my mind wander and explore wherever it wants or wonts to go. we all need more time to do this. go do it in whatever shape or form you do it in. some people cook, some people work on their cars, some people draw, some people play videogames, some people surf youtube endlessly but whatever it is let your mind wander and get lost and not worry about coming back before dark.

when I was a little girl with my sister visiting my mum’s family in hanham, Bristol, England, I will never forget the week we spent there. we didn’t know anyone but every afternoon after school let out all of the kids would play and play and play in the streets and the parents just let them go. homework? whatever. I don’t think they had it back then. good thing. kids just played and played and played and played. it actually really does make me sad how that isn’t happening enough these days with kids. because we had fun. so much fun. kick the can. tag. anything. going to the candy shop. anything. and then at the same time each evening (after we came in quick for dinner or what they call ‘tea’ and then trotted back out again) the ice cream truck would come by and we’d all stop, mesmerized by the sound of the truck and we’d beg and plead for money and then run back to the truck and get our little ice cream cone. I liked the rocket or the orange creamsicle the best. and then the guy who had the truck used to call my sister and I ‘the Canadian birds.’ in one week, I felt like I had become a part of that little neighborhood. and I felt more a part of that neighborhood than perhaps any neighborhood anywhere else in my childhood. other places I grew up, I had friends for sure. but not an instantaneous group of children in a tribe that just took you in and made you one of their own even though we spoke with a different accent and wore the wrong clothes and probably smelled different too. that was fun. what was one of your best memories from your growing up days?

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