Auto writing – sorta

 Okay, I was really in the mood tonight – more so than I have been in a long time – to do some auto writing. Not the oraclular kind, but the "letting your subconscious just spill through your fingers" kind. 

The first three paragraphs are precisely that; in the remainder I’m more aware but still just typing whatever comes to mind. I’m posting this for no other reason than to say, "hey, I do this sometimes, this is what it looks like, and it’s fun". 

(note: This was edited for spelling and punctuation, but that’s all.)

“““““““““““““““““““““““““““““

And so I stand there … looking at footprints in the dew. It’s spring I think. Or it should be. The birds are singing, the sun is rising, even the trees are churning out their tinny iron sounds … but something was off. I’d meant to avoid the yellow road today, it only goes one way, you see, and that’s not the way I’m going. But you all know that no matter where it is you’re headed, the yellow road is headed somewhere in between. By the time I got there the sun had ticked off 5 twelfths of the day and I wasn’t going to get caught in the dark again … not with how hungry it was lately … with its floating smile and eerie electric eyes. 

Why don’t you sit down my dear? The old woman said – Hag might have been a better word, but I was taught not to use language like that with my elders. And so we sat and ate sandwiches like they did in the good ole days before microwaves ruined everything. Now the most intimate you have to be with a meal is pulling it out of its rapper … I almost said raptor, but that’d be kinda apropos don’t you think? The hunting bird turned dinner, cheaply snagging us in its claws. Hotkey your way to happiness just lost thirty pounds in ten days with this nonexistent diet! But don’t worry, if you … oh I don’t know … diet while you’re on our diet, you’re guaranteed to see an improvement … maybe, but no guarantees. 

Now we’re talking to the founder of subatomic articles right now … Mr.Gene Code, yes? That’s right all, and boy do I have a load of shit to sell you. Why just the other day I was weeding my wife’s garden and I thought, you know what the world really needs? A shampoo that won’t dry out your skin. So I switched to sellsome blue, but it didn’t go over too well in the test market. Probably because there were no free samples, and you know how they like their bribes, son. Speaking of the sun, and I know you weren’t, what’s up with that? Get it? What’s UP with that? Pah, people have no sense of humor; or maybe they do and that’s why I can’t keep a live audience anywhere … they’re alive when they come in mind you, just not when the act is done. In fact I think last week we came closer than we ever had to a couple making it through the mid way point. I was really rooting for them too … mostly because they’d just ordered another round of drinks and I wanted them to arrive before the schleps offed themselves. Get it? Because I’d drink their drinks after they’re … ah, forget it. 

That’s what the trouble is with the world these days, you just do what you have to do and if anyone gets in your way you set them on fire … preferably while capturing it for youtube. Roawr. Rawer? Who the hell knows what’s going to pop out of our mouths these days., Once upon a time people knew how to write words, now all they know how to do is write shorthand … hell, when I I was a kid you actually had to take a class to learn that shit. Okay so my typing speed just sped up and my spelling just dropped off tremendously because for some reason my mind is drawing to my letters as I type and whenever you do that you start making mistakes. I wonder how long I can keep this auto writing thing up before it stops being auto writing and stars being dribble? Two pages ago? Oh, thanks. Asswhole. Wiseinheimer buys the wine and everyone eats the salmon but that doesn’t mean they have to do what’s right for our country. Hell, if they can keep doing what’s wrong for it they’ll keep their jobs for another four years, because nobody wants to get rid of the people who know what isn’t getting done just in case it takes the new turd four years to become just as clueless as this person. 

And that’s not the end of it! But it’s the end of my auto writing exercise; both fun and helpful I think. I need to get back into the habit of doing this sort of thing. (Don’t worry, I won’t plague you with a copy of my brainless rambling every time; this is a one time punishment for having me on your friends list.)

But I still want to type, my hands are tingling from the effort of writing so much and so prolonged a time, with no real breaks to think what I’m going to write next … they tingle on their underside and feel a bit disembodied … not like they would with ghosts, just the way they would if you were talking a nonstop line of gibberish a without anyone to stop you … and I know what that feels like.  I am a Bonagofski after all.  At least on my mother’s side, on my father’s side I’m just an asshole.