Freewriting:

[SelfControl]

Anyone ever done this? Just write everything you can think of for ages? I filled three notebooks with it, just everything that came into my head. Some good little phrases. Got the idea from the sixth sense.

[stickchick24]

Sometimes I try the "train-of-thought" writing process, where you write what you're thinking. Also, another techinique I learned was a split between writing and drawing. First write for five minutes, then sketch for five more minutes, and keep switching between the two. That seems to produce interesting results. One of my profs. made the suggestion that if you are starting to write about a painful or difficult subject, write about that for a given amount of time (like 5 min.) and then switch to a "safe" subject for another five, and keep alternating. An example would be writing about your mother's death and then writing about your favorite food. I tried that in class and it was very interesting.

I was wondering if anyone knows anything about "Gonzo" journalism. Of course, I discovered it while reading the little booklet that came with the special addition "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" (my favorite movie). I would love to try this unorthodox method, but I didn't know if anyone has tried it before. If so, I would love to hear from you! Peace.

[Orsino2]

I freewrite every day...

[SelfControl]

These wounds have become de facto, isnÕt it obvious? Severed from a mainstream neural index, arbitrary random ritual paradigms that disgorge themselves alone on reflex. I think the blows have clipped my wings and all this dark matter pulses with nowhere to go, a rolling twitter of melodic scrawl catatonic and energy defunct and resourced. A gentle swathe of equilibrium, it ushers us to sleep. We can move into the shallows, we spent to long living up to what Ourselves should have been. We ought to have been not what we really are, just what we are. Let hidden depths hide, you could push them to the fore but then yr changing for someone elseÕs sake, someone elseÕs idea of yr purpose. We are not to be projected onto, we are not all flavours of one and the same.

I guess it was like being told: you know all that paranoia, all those fears you thought were irrational? Valid, justified, you were right to be terrified. These are dreams of nihilisng anxiety, of amendment to yr chaotic idiosyncrasies and a freedom from remorse and change, but consequences are the staff of life, and action without reaction is a frozen lake, an exclusion of time from an equation about life and with that one missing factor we are made unsatisfied. This eidolic regime resents the coded positioning, concludes that glory can and must be sustained eternally. Is this a tenable position? Our indifference doomed to wander streets of artificial chaos, that is the only true insanity, destiny provides a staid exhilaration a feelgood based on a failure.

The rationing of hope tot hose who help themselves. How do we overcome inertia, when all around is has become so still and desolate. These are ugly realities brought into being, immobilised didactics razored and scurrilous . now who are you to instill some fragile sense of camaraderie? This town is threatening to exhale this town has had enough of me and I enough of kicking in the vague concrete, lamenting optimistic diagrams of what we used to be, another thirty every week, an instantaneous levy on feelings of personal safety, and maybe IÕm the idiot, but you have given me enough of it to last a lifetime. Now IÕve reigned my target flag right in, all consequences fragile without threatening and thereÕs a gormless fodder face glued to each window, specially placed for me to see and how obvious this heroism must be to unfold out and let us in so graciously, so social virtuous ignorami tell you that thereÕs no shame in reacting to yr fears, but luck did terrible things, pulled the rug out once IÕd back myself into a corner, IÕll lie down on these rusty blades anneal and circle this will hoping to emerge unscathed. Stoic in the details, an instinct in an instant cut and cauterised from grief. I miss the end so badly, glossed over the facts, left out the meaning (nobody chooses their reason) I donÕt recall leaving I think I wasnÕt too attached towards the end. I may have been the one who slipped those fingers into my head, and told myself to go to bed, itÕs full of dirty words for grown ups, just pretend you never saw the start.

[SelfControl]

pretend all those squiggly O's are apostrophes. That's a couple of days worth, just used to do it on the bus to college cuz no-one would sit next to me, not even crazy people. It was meant to be a lyric book, but no-one would be in a band with me because I smell.