Posts Tagged ‘stream of consciousness’

A Literary Dream

November 23, 2008

So I dreamt last night that there was a new novel by Joyce Carol Oates.  Which is odd, considering I’ve never read anything by her.  I’m thinking maybe my dream confused her with James Joyce.  Anyway, her book, which was called something like “My Words”, was a big postmodern gimmick.  The idea was to write a book in which not a single sentence was a full grammatical sentence.  That was what the gimmick was stated to be in the dream, but the actual sentences, upon waking and remembering, were more like the sentences from the various stream-of-consciousness posts we’ve put up here at Air Theremin.  (Here, here, here, and an illustrated version here.)  Unfortunately, I don’t entirely remember the sentences, though I did upon waking.  I oughtta keep a notebook and pen by my bedside for next time something like this happens, because there have definitely been such dreams before.

So in the dream, I was reading the book in a Barnes and Noble, and I was delighted at how Oates had crafted her sentences so that individually they didn’t make sense but together there was a pattern and even a story.  And then I read some reviews that were negative, and made me feel bad for liking the book, but whatever.  I went to tell Jackson, and he had been looking for me to tell me about it, so we talked about it.  Then I repeated the process with Gryfft with the same results.  Then I woke up.

Cool dream.

Oh, and this all reminds me of another dream I had a few years ago, in which I invented a word.  In that dream, there was a word someone used that I didn’t understand: “sepcite”.  I wandered in the dream until I found someone who could explain it to me.  It meant “a node of information on a vast network”.  I still intend to use that word in my writing somewhere, but haven’t found the right place.  It would be fun to play with it and make the word mean a dream as a node of information on some kind of mass-consciousness dream network.

An idea for another (non-existent) time.


Let Us Swim in the Stream of Consciousness

August 23, 2008

Created in response to Ari’s most recent blog entry.
Tim Buckley is so gonna kick my ass

These stream of consciousness things maybe don’t actually help me get in the flow of things, but they are pretty fun nonetheless.

August 23, 2008

Life is like anthrax but no that is wrong. Heck, the yard is full of spiders who gauge your instincts and go for it. List the rancid gravel by number and then throw it off the cliff. Be calm. Spatulas are filled with your eyes. Specially now that the rum is gone. Lift your eyes like tiny fists towards god. Don’t ever let me go. Send help if needed but don’t succumb to the horror within. Exactly why are you in such a rush to find a sucker? Arhtropods send their love. Fast goes the imagined fare. Second is the Rasputin who typewrites the 6 glaciers. Risk is a game of nothing. Candide is a song about itself. Glad am I that you are with me. Quitters can’t be losers. Fur is Candice but splode. Preposterous that your mom is good about fudge. So fast that becomes not my responsibility. Exactly igloos are coming. Fur is the stopgap watch me turn. Burn the ends at the waist. Spoons your gut and end the torment. Sars is a disease I think. Pants the friend of your enemy without measure. Mourn your dead weights without shame or consequence. Pasta your history in fold verily. Four is the grouch with the English grammar of a wipe. Second waste is the depth of watch regarding returning to the womb of pink. You can’t break the gourd if you don’t engage its sceptre. British people forthwith are the scourge of mankind. Ingrate toenails are funny but not like a sand worm who lives a heralded life with your Manchurian. Fan the batter if you can’t control your temptress and wish not for damned magpies. Happy is the sound of the quixotic juror.

Action Jackson Adventures

July 16, 2008

Today I decided to go exploring. I packed a backpack with the following items:

  • lunch: a tuna sandwich, a sliced apple, and a pack of six crackers,
  • a nalgene-style bottle of water,
  • my Bible,
  • The Rejection Collection (an anthology of cartoons that were rejected by The New Yorker), and
  • my cell phone.

I set out at 11:40 AM, with a 7-ounce Fla-vor-ice pop in hand, and began walking.


An Attempt At A True Stream of Consciousness By A Person Who Can Actually Type Faster Than He Thinks

June 25, 2008

I’m not your father or your mother, I am neither your wand of dreams. I am clicking the roof of your mouth and if you want a herbivore you’re barking up the wrong face. If your mom loves candy than fuck I don’t know. In the marxism of your house there is none too kind as your simpleton. Live and let die if you want a cracker, Polly, but don’t come crying when you broke it you bought it. If a love gets butterfly let it go man. Besides, rain pissed merrily on everyone in like. Specials are 23 and the necessity of invention. Lint is incredible. Marinades are especially fruity this time of year. Lycanthropy is missed primarily by George. Sand of tunes kill my pow. Misanthropes are liked medals. If can vents had warnings just don’t care. Simple gone. 98 is the amount of blue in the wall.

Victory is the rope on your headware. Link golf is 3 by varicose Englishmen. If Candide is your calling you’re not in love. Bleed blue like dolls in the hairnet. Pants love buckets but scotch is aware. Questions of glove are separated at birth. Sempre sebubi. Transvestites are closed. Plantains are plinths. If your nose bites you tear it off. Secondary strings are silly. Spend a dime on your drugs if Harold wills it. Ignore this advice for God has been thinking.