Canoeing Down The Consciousness Stream

Okay, it’s been quite a while since I’ve done a stream of consciousness, so I guess I oughta (why had I oughta? ‘cause I guess I wanna.), this time maybe leave the mistypes in that the thought to fingers to keys to print abound in or maybe not who knows or cares so Nonsense terse free adverse in iambic pentam or maybe not we’ll see. Paris the last time I saw was 56 years ago, Gardiner (Gare du Nord, that is) the square rounded filled with people fire engine passing through, fireman with long sticks beating the people out of the way that looks strange to me back then but today who knows today? Anyway Have you lived in New York City? The trains in Paris the subways, stopped running at night around midnight was just plain weird to me. Stephen Vincent Benét Western Star, most know John Brown’s Body but, Western Star is another novel poem that he wrote, never finished and waited until he was dead to publish and well worth read. , if you need something to do just pick up a book and read it’s worth the time and there’s pleasure and knowledge available that way, but I have to say most people today seem not, able to do that, oh well, time will tell, and the Bell Tolls for you and you, and you, and me, lost weekends perhaps bookends, surrounding slices of life. May not rhyme but does repeat when you’re running in the vast lane Strife is where you find it, life is how you bind it, and all depends on the importance you assign it , seems like I’ve been down this road before, people places many things Galore, Rats and mice a corner shout for more, and sit back yearning for the day before, and as the master poet said Evermore Evermore Evermore quoth the Craven . Katie barr the door, into tomorrow we don’t want to borrow trouble even though our bets are double, and we step across the rubble each in our little bubble, and we don’t need a telescope a Hubble, to see the writing on the floor. Left right into the breech my friend, march to places where we once have been, go along to get along sing song, follow the star, the good guys wear white hats even if you cannot see the forest for the gnats, yesterday is far away but still in play, shaping tomorrow and tomorrow’s tomorrow. , Westward ho or to the north you know there are places left to go that glow. East is East and West is right you might say nay, but nonetheless the ball is still in play. Left of center to clicks windage right, hello for elevation and get off at Union Station next door is a boar I said it tomorrow and I’ll say it yesterday but do not worry there’s always more and if the tide is rising go with the flow you know, is after all, tomorrow is another play. Hope is another word for Nothing Left to Lose, if your shoes wrongly strongly, okay dismay they say tomorrow is another day, before or after the night of the Long Knives. White night’s gone, the first snow bro, season’s bleatings. West of the sun east of the Moon changes are coming monsoon, Kuala Lumpur monsoon season, rain starts raging at 3:57 p.m. -you can set your watch by it, when the rain rages the taxi fares triples, you can lose your wallet to it. Stream of consciousness, free association, rock and roll waves reneumeration, contemplation ratification, sublimation, and don’t forget you get off at the next station. Coal Fired power station, water tube boilers, 4x4x4 foot red hot clickers in the ash pit, high pressure steam leak in the superheater tubes, Coal Fire in the bunkers, just another day at the office. There are offices and there are orifices, take your toothpick. There may be no tomorrow but there was an Edward R. Murrow, good night and good luck. The road Will well traveled, The Road Les Less Traveled, traveling your own road if you don’t want to go ruts, and I do know where the wild geese go, been there roasted that, so perhaps I should keep it under my hat, so it’s not your offend some righteous bat, who has no idea where it’s at, set sat, splat. Gone artydays when some thoughts lead to a mother of vinegar It was Tuesday a week ago maybe it was Sunday but I know it wasn’t Monday when Gareth and snowy came over and we said and we talked to him he didn’t say anything at all of any importance at all we’re just sat there and sat there and sat there and talked for a while we didn’t make the world a better placemat for it but okay that was worth the time we spent so there. And then there was the time that Labertinsky and I caving, spelunking,, in Florida found a calf at the bottom of a chimney around 40 ft down, the calf wasn’t damaged there was a lot of debris in the bottom but collected over the eons so it had a soft place to land. Labertinsky and I put a rope on on the calf and hauled it back out and in retrospect is amazing we did that cuz it was at least 400 pounds of beef we were hauling hand over hand up 40 feet with a rope. Deep in the heart of nexus are three hundred and forty complexes, that you may or may not be able to write off as reflections, a still stream, glass perfect mirror, takes only the slightest Breeze, to make the image disappear. Wards galore to night bumpers astray lead, night lights, sound bites, shifting sights. Toby or not Toby, these are the times that scry men’s bowls ask not, whatnot? None the less dis is da winter of dis continent and dat continent 2 so ask not what you can do for your contrary but ask instead what your contrary can do for you. And and and if if if fi you had the 4Dtoot to read this far (Proof positive that you’re far more than a wee bit strange.) I would suggest you practice your own stream of consciousness. Say your mind wanders out loud looking at the Discord Within looking with dismay about and without allows you to find anchor points and safe harbors while navigating the typhooned sensory sea up down and whirling all around thee. A suggestion not an order to thine own self Betrude.

To Bee or not to Bee?, hum a few bars and I’ll fake it.