God's Own Electric Circus

Thought Stream

Ah, the formidable blank page, as I snap my letters down its spotless white face offers only contrast. Word after word I commit, composing sentences in mentalese then deftly translating them into English. Here’s a sentence for you, a couple more and we’ll have a thought stream. This stream is not committed to time, no passage of days will dull the original intention, no language barrier can erase its true message. Time will pass, languages will morph, yet my original intent, the qualia of sensory sensation and emotion will remain. In some future millennium, a civilization much like ours, will stumble upon this sentence and be able to revisit, with perfect subjectivity, the thought stream of my mind. The stream, this tributary of mind sitting pooled on this page. Formed carefully into tokens of language, this currency of letters with which we purchase our thoughts. Now, let your eyes relax and stop tearing apart this block of black threads, allow the words to blur and release your focus on them. In the resulting haze the thought of my original intention once more becomes clear. Somewhere in this greyscale haze of black on white, there exists a bird in a cage. These letters are the bars and though the bird has room to spread its wings, it will never be truly free to fly. 0 comments