Of Flies and Noses – A Stream of ConsciousnessPosted: November 26, 2013 | |
This is an experiment that you can try at home.
Let me welcome you to the beginning of my stream of consciousness, my interior monologue, 100% raw, unedited, and I don’t know what other word I should use to advertise its authenticity, but trust me, it’s authentic. It’s also a little strange, really, because it’s kind of like you’re taking a creepily close look at how my brain works, you know, what words I use, the way I structure my sentences, the things I think about, as well as the fact that I just noticed that there are two flies in my room who haven’t figured out that the window they flew in from is wide open, and the soft wind that’s blowing into my office/bedroom is whispering sweet words of freedom and adventure, and it, it does what, it irks me, yes, that these pesky little insects would rather fly themselves repeatedly into the lit bulb of my desk lamp instead of listening to the whispers of the wind and get the hell out of my room, thankyouverymuch.
That was an unusually long sentence in the sense that it was unusual and long and a sentence.
Ah, magic. It looks like the fly couple just, um, broke up, and the male, I assume, drunkenly stormed out of my room through the window after crashing itself into the window frame a few times, which is why I described its rather chaotic, um, departure as being influenced by alcohol. Well, there’s still one broken-hearted fly in my room whose suffering I will soon put to an abrupt end thanks to the ingenious invention of fly swatters. So there’s a grammatically-correct German sentence that uses the word “fly” six times in a row:
Wenn hinter Fliegen Fliegen fliegen fliegen Fliegen Fliegen nach.
Which basically means: when flies fly behind flies, flies fly behind flies.
Anyway, you’re currently reading my uninterrupted thoughts. This is like writing free verse with no planning whatsoever. It’s like I have opened the massive doors that guard the sacred entrance into my brain and you’re just walking in like you own the damn place, carefully inspecting the large variety of mechanisms, cogwheels, gears, cables, inputs, outputs, wires, and what else, ventilation systems of the complex machine that runs my being in real time.
You’re like a tourist in my head. You’re not in a museum because my thoughts aren’t thoughts that I have once thought and brought back into existence by remembering them, but rather thoughts that are springing into life out of nowhere, and you’re in the middle of it, like on live television, experiencing this magic that, what was his name, William James, coined “stream of consciousness.”
Oh children. Speaking of frightening issues and children, it is believed that around 20% of children report hearing voices. That’s an astonishingly low percentage of youth that is capable of perceiving sound waves emitted by other human beings via speech. I knew that some children are born deaf, but I would never have imagined that it would be up to 80% of one-digits. That’s what I call humans who are under the age of 10. The number 10 is the number I wore on my jersey when I played football back in high school, which is the sport where you kick a ball with your foot, not where you throw an egg with your hand.
Zlatan’s goal was amazing. That bicycle kick from outside of the box? Remember that? Total boss. Why is it that almost all Swedish women are attractive? Americans say that Europeans are known for having bad teeth and Europeans say that Americans are known for being fat. We tell people not to judge others, which is the most useful advice ever, because then people stop judging others.
I joke. That’s one of the many types of humor that I enjoy. Taking a vague idea that leads most people to make the same conclusion but then changing that conclusion into something that most people wouldn’t expect to read, or hear if I was talking. But I’m not talking, so in this case, it would be read, because that’s what you’re currently doing, unless you’ve got one of those fancy devices that reads words for you so that you can occupy yourself with other things because your life is too short and important for you to have to only deal with one thing at a time, you pretentious little goof. Also, the type of humor I just described above is pretty much the definition of “humor,” isn’t it. So I wasn’t talking about “one of the many types of humor;” I was actually talking about humor in itself. Deeeeep. Like the Mariana Trench. It would take a while to get to the bottom of that trench. Long way down.
I don’t know how long I will be doing this stream of consciousness for, because it’s surprisingly tiring to write your thoughts out as you’re coming up with them. You can’t pause and go back and correct anything, except for the occasional spelling error, and you just have to keep going with it, which is kind of like this analogy that makes a lot of sense that I haven’t thought of at all.
I can see my own reflection on my screen. Hi there. Do you also wonder what it would be like to have two noses with one nostril each instead of one nose with two nostrils? The nose-piercing industry would be radically different if that were the case. Hipster people would hang tiny hipster chains connecting their two hipster noses along with miniature hipster signs that read hipster things like, “hashswag.” Sneezing would be quite the ordeal because you’d have to blow each nose and nostril individually. In fact, people would probably combine the two and just call them nosetrils. There would be twice as many noses as people. More noses. Moses.
The human brain works amazingly fast. I can’t keep track of all of my thoughts right now. Sometimes I just play out entire scenarios before I can write them down. There’s a myriad of things I could have added to the whole noses paragraph that I didn’t because I can’t type as fast as I can think. And I don’t mean to brag or anything but I’m definitely the world’s fastest typer for sure.
I’m not sure but I’m pretty sure that I started typing in sixth grade. A few months into the course, I raced my teacher in a non-casual, extremely heated battle of who can write the most words per minute. I beat him with 90 wpm. His fingers literally didn’t fall off after, what’s the word I’m looking for, it starts with an “a” and ends with “ccumulating,” ah yes, accumulating a total of 85 wpm. Henceforth he was known as Mr. Sloth. Speaking of sloths and falling off, did you know that some sloths die because they grab their own arm instead of the branch and then fall to their death? I bet you did. All of my readers are smart individuals, and both of them know their fair share of information about sloths.
I think I’ll end the stream of consciousness now. Well, no, not really. That would imply that I’m about to die, which is the inevitable fate of that broken-hearted fly over there rubbing its sad little hands together by my copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. What I meant is that I’ll stop writing down what I’m thinking, because you’re probably bored to death by now. Death is quite fascinating, though, because there you are doing things, and all of a sudden, you ain’t doin’ nothin’ no more. Kind of like those unfortunate sloths who mistake limbs for tree branches. Although they don’t really do much to begin with. I have bills that need to be paid. Debt is frightening. I’ve used that word before to describe how eerie it is to know that you, essentially a complete stranger, just read my personal, uninterrupted thoughts.