freewriting

“i don’t like the look of your collar bone” the grumpy old lady said to the man on the chair.

but it looks so beautiful, the man replied

well, i don’t know about that.

i don’t know what’s going on. only that i must emit the words from my brain and let nothing escape. for nothing good can come from one who has escaped.

i guess it’s like an llm when you turn the temperature real high.

except the interesting thing is that my thoughts occur faster than the speed of my typing. there was a long pause middle of that sentence. but anyway, this gives me room for editing thoughts as they occur in my brain before they are jotted onto the page. however, it is not much time.

let’s see.

what is the hour on the clock?

it seems to be 1:52am.

the crow caws.

caw.

side eye.

i don’t know.

beatles. they are pretty.

maybe perhaps.

either or i don’t know

leopard prints and printers atop the crowded caucus.

i don’t quite know what a caucus is only that it is something vaguely political.

but there he goes again. that damned spaniard. always eating behind the curtain. but never quite showing what it is that he is eating. for he is ashamed. ashamed to be known. to be known as the one who eats behind the curtain.

anyway.

underneath the spiral staircase lies a bookcase made of precious metals.

and underneath the precious metals lies another precious metal.

hierarchies. i don’t like them i guess. i do like trees though.

how dare you do that to my deepest depths.

slowly, the man raised a hand. he trembled.