Saw others do this and thought this would be an interesting experiment... the best way I can explain my thought process is to take you with me there...
I didn't walk outside for this. I might add one where I'm walking outside later, but I don't think it'll be too much different. I find I don't enjoy my surroundings most of the time, anyway. I'm either constantly distracting myself with reading something, or if I'm doing something, I'm zoned out over-thinking. So I just did a free write. I tried to describe the thoughts and the visuals in my mind as I was thinking. Keep in mind I do have ADHD, so it might seem there is a lot of jumping around. I find it somewhat hard to translate my thought process, but this is probably as best as I can do it...I just jumped in with some recent thoughts and took off where ever it would take me- an un-edited free write thought process. This is the same place I go for gathering ideas for creative writing/poetry so I'm interested in what kind of function you think I'm using when I do this...
I'd also like to see others free writes! Feel free to add it to this thread. :)
I hate when I'm on a writing spree in my mind and everything flows so nicely. And because I'm writing in my mind, I forget. There is no pen to paper. It's just every line going off a cliff, lost in the great void. And I think of invisible fingers typing on a type writer and something eats the paper ever time it comes out of the type writers jaws. It's a monster, the limitations of memory.
It's like I start and I go and go in my head and then I stop and talk to someone and it's lost forever. And I wish I could get it back. But there is no following the same thoughts twice. I want there to be papers of memories I can go back and look at but I can't read them all at once and it's like I want to think too many things at once. And I see papers floating around like those old tv shows that were on tv when I was younger where people tried to catch money, but I'm trying to catch my memories and maybe they are like money, too .But sometimes I get thought deja vu, like having thought I followed this path before. But it's like a fingerprint and no two are the same.
And I was trying to think of a new poem and every time I do, I think it can't be shallow. It has to be fantastical and deep or I'm not writing anything. So I start pulling things, rummaging through images in my mind. Suddenly there is a pin ball and my thoughts are pin balls. And then I think of pinballs rolling like spiky porcupines, because sometimes my thoughts roll and the are sharp and they prick me, but do porcupines roll, what rolls, and why can't I remember and that is for google and I need a main point if I'm going to write anything... and I feel blank sometimes, like a blank piece of paper and the paper in my mind is folding inward, but there is a bunch of fancy writing on the outside, and that paper is me. And I see my grandma in my mind smiling and think people aren't that empty, but they have worlds inside of them, and I wish I could be more like her sometimes. And I hear her laugh in my mind like she always did, and I think of how ornery and wonderful she was, and I see the sun rising up behind her, and I think of her grave, and there are flowers everywhere, but I've never been there and I don't know how to get there. And I miss her.
And I think of that time she told me she pulled a gun on my step grandma. I envision her in the bathroom with a gun pointed out the upstairs window towards my step grandma telling her to get off her property and it's like I'm standing behind her and I wonder how different this is that I visualize from how it really was. And how stories are just skeletons and our imaginations give them their meat, and I think if this story was told to someone else their mind would go to a different place and I try to morph my situation, but I feel like it's solid, but slowly things start to change, the weather, now we are downstairs, now it's raining, now grandma is younger.
I think I'm thinking wrong. Is there a wrong. And I think sometimes I need to just concentrate on one thing and go at it with everything I've got and that kind of tunnel vision can really make your mark and get you somewhere. It's a straight shot. But it feels limiting. And maybe such unsureness and hesitation in an important moment that can make you loose the game. But then I know I lack the stamina for it. I can't hold onto that state of mind, like water falling through my fingers. And maybe that makes me weak. And why does it even matter. And I see myself in the room of my mind. And I'm sitting on my knees in the room and it's dark, and it's a mess, as it always is. Papers and clothes strewn about everywhere. And in the room of my mind I'm having another existential crisis. And I think I need to get over it. I think I need to quit falling into this hole in my mind. And I go up to her and shake her and slap her and yell at her. And then I am her, looking up at an angry and frustrated version of myself and I realize I hate myself.
And then I'm in front of an audience and I'm in front of an open treasure chest, and I keep finding myself here every time I go fishing for more images for my poem, but I haven't quite thought of how to arrange it yet, and I need Some new ones, and I wonder if I write it down if I can discard it and how long it plans on staying floating along casually on my mind, a disturbing thought on the open lake of my mind floating on a floaty, sunning itself in my misery, and it looks at me and gloats...and that treasure chest is me, and I'm pulling things out, and it's ideas, and I'm scared that I will scrape the bottom of the box and there will be nothing left to pull out. And I panic and shut the box and pray no one knows how empty it really is.
And I think about this book I'm reading. And some quotes in it, and how they motivate me momentarily and how I wish I could hold on to those thoughts, but it's like trying to catch a fish with my bare hands.
And I wonder what the author is like. I envision her in my mind talking to her, maybe we are friends, and I wonder if we'd get along, and she seems panther like and sly. Her eyes are that of a predator. And I try to create her voice. And I would never have guessed how incredible her mind is just by merely looking at her. I imagine her sitting and writing and at book signings and what she is like day to dat. At home, sitting on her couch and then with a different face at book signings. And you just can't know people. People are so much more than they appear and I kind of romanticize this.
I think about being able to catch these motivational thoughts like butterfly's and lay on the couch and close my eyes and shove the butterflies in my mind and they rewire my brain into being different, and opening my eyes motivates. I'm like a machine. The butterfly wings set off a different wave in my brain and I wish I could hold onto it, but I know I can't. Rewiring my brain is like standing in front of an inspirational quote and admiring it and thinking it would be nice if I could think that way all the time, but as soon as I turn my head the thought is lost, much like how my thoughts are committing suicide off into the abyss when I'm not writing them down. The bars on the cage of my mind are too wide and the butterflies fly out. The light only turns on when I'm staring at it, and I can't just stand there and stare at it because I have to live. I'm a laptop computer and I loose my charge. I need plugged in. There is just no getting away from that plug for very long before I'm back in that room of my mind again in the dark.
And I find myself folding laundry earlier, but I'm not, I'm staring into space zoning out into all these weird images and thoughts and I wonder if other people think like this too, or maybe I have some extreme ADD, and maybe I have something wrong with me and maybe I'm crazy, just a little bit, and I think of that time I was taking adderall how I didn't think like this, and how I felt a part of me had been amputated. It felt wrong and I couldn't navigate. It was like fishing in a lake with no fish, but now there are so many fish I can't concentrate and adderall kills my thoughts. It dries up my lake and I'm standing on a peer looking down at a dried up lake and my fish are dying. Damn adderall. But then it's peaceful. I'm standing next to a boom box and adderall walked up, winks at me, and turns off the music. It's like someone has been playing music non stop in my head and they quit changing the station constantly and then there is blankness. And I can think linear but it's all so 2 dimensional. I've lost my inner world and I've been locked out, and I beat on the door but adderall won't let me in. It's creative constipation.
And I think how I'd like to ride the waves of others mind patterns. Just hold on for the ride, and maybe that's why I like reading because it's probably as close as it gets...And I just want a little taste of them all to compare too, and maybe some are sour and some are sweet and everyone is their own individual symphony and some I like the tune of some more than others, and some symphony's most people like more than others. And you can repeat others symphony's but it lacks the originality, the passion, the fervor, and it would be sad to live the life of imitation. And I want to understand why people do it, I want to understand why people would do anything, I want to be everyone, but I'm scared to ride a wave of a sick person because I'm afraid I'll get dirty on the inside. I'm afraid I'll understand them and maybe some things I don't want to understand and here I'll be stuck with this disease forever. But it's so tempting. They say don't touch the red button and then the red button haunts me. I'm eve and it's the fruit.
And I wonder about the rightness of the world. Is there a right song, and am I trying to move towards it, like a moth to the flame. Sure there are different perspectives, but is their a right one? And Im in this place and I see all these strings jutting out before me, like strings on a guitar, and they start vibrating like all the chords have been struck, and they fade into one. Is this how it is, or is it like picking the right cord. I don't think I can understand it. I don't think my mind can fathom it.
I didn't walk outside for this. I might add one where I'm walking outside later, but I don't think it'll be too much different. I find I don't enjoy my surroundings most of the time, anyway. I'm either constantly distracting myself with reading something, or if I'm doing something, I'm zoned out over-thinking. So I just did a free write. I tried to describe the thoughts and the visuals in my mind as I was thinking. Keep in mind I do have ADHD, so it might seem there is a lot of jumping around. I find it somewhat hard to translate my thought process, but this is probably as best as I can do it...I just jumped in with some recent thoughts and took off where ever it would take me- an un-edited free write thought process. This is the same place I go for gathering ideas for creative writing/poetry so I'm interested in what kind of function you think I'm using when I do this...
I'd also like to see others free writes! Feel free to add it to this thread. :)
I hate when I'm on a writing spree in my mind and everything flows so nicely. And because I'm writing in my mind, I forget. There is no pen to paper. It's just every line going off a cliff, lost in the great void. And I think of invisible fingers typing on a type writer and something eats the paper ever time it comes out of the type writers jaws. It's a monster, the limitations of memory.
It's like I start and I go and go in my head and then I stop and talk to someone and it's lost forever. And I wish I could get it back. But there is no following the same thoughts twice. I want there to be papers of memories I can go back and look at but I can't read them all at once and it's like I want to think too many things at once. And I see papers floating around like those old tv shows that were on tv when I was younger where people tried to catch money, but I'm trying to catch my memories and maybe they are like money, too .But sometimes I get thought deja vu, like having thought I followed this path before. But it's like a fingerprint and no two are the same.
And I was trying to think of a new poem and every time I do, I think it can't be shallow. It has to be fantastical and deep or I'm not writing anything. So I start pulling things, rummaging through images in my mind. Suddenly there is a pin ball and my thoughts are pin balls. And then I think of pinballs rolling like spiky porcupines, because sometimes my thoughts roll and the are sharp and they prick me, but do porcupines roll, what rolls, and why can't I remember and that is for google and I need a main point if I'm going to write anything... and I feel blank sometimes, like a blank piece of paper and the paper in my mind is folding inward, but there is a bunch of fancy writing on the outside, and that paper is me. And I see my grandma in my mind smiling and think people aren't that empty, but they have worlds inside of them, and I wish I could be more like her sometimes. And I hear her laugh in my mind like she always did, and I think of how ornery and wonderful she was, and I see the sun rising up behind her, and I think of her grave, and there are flowers everywhere, but I've never been there and I don't know how to get there. And I miss her.
And I think of that time she told me she pulled a gun on my step grandma. I envision her in the bathroom with a gun pointed out the upstairs window towards my step grandma telling her to get off her property and it's like I'm standing behind her and I wonder how different this is that I visualize from how it really was. And how stories are just skeletons and our imaginations give them their meat, and I think if this story was told to someone else their mind would go to a different place and I try to morph my situation, but I feel like it's solid, but slowly things start to change, the weather, now we are downstairs, now it's raining, now grandma is younger.
I think I'm thinking wrong. Is there a wrong. And I think sometimes I need to just concentrate on one thing and go at it with everything I've got and that kind of tunnel vision can really make your mark and get you somewhere. It's a straight shot. But it feels limiting. And maybe such unsureness and hesitation in an important moment that can make you loose the game. But then I know I lack the stamina for it. I can't hold onto that state of mind, like water falling through my fingers. And maybe that makes me weak. And why does it even matter. And I see myself in the room of my mind. And I'm sitting on my knees in the room and it's dark, and it's a mess, as it always is. Papers and clothes strewn about everywhere. And in the room of my mind I'm having another existential crisis. And I think I need to get over it. I think I need to quit falling into this hole in my mind. And I go up to her and shake her and slap her and yell at her. And then I am her, looking up at an angry and frustrated version of myself and I realize I hate myself.
And then I'm in front of an audience and I'm in front of an open treasure chest, and I keep finding myself here every time I go fishing for more images for my poem, but I haven't quite thought of how to arrange it yet, and I need Some new ones, and I wonder if I write it down if I can discard it and how long it plans on staying floating along casually on my mind, a disturbing thought on the open lake of my mind floating on a floaty, sunning itself in my misery, and it looks at me and gloats...and that treasure chest is me, and I'm pulling things out, and it's ideas, and I'm scared that I will scrape the bottom of the box and there will be nothing left to pull out. And I panic and shut the box and pray no one knows how empty it really is.
And I think about this book I'm reading. And some quotes in it, and how they motivate me momentarily and how I wish I could hold on to those thoughts, but it's like trying to catch a fish with my bare hands.
And I wonder what the author is like. I envision her in my mind talking to her, maybe we are friends, and I wonder if we'd get along, and she seems panther like and sly. Her eyes are that of a predator. And I try to create her voice. And I would never have guessed how incredible her mind is just by merely looking at her. I imagine her sitting and writing and at book signings and what she is like day to dat. At home, sitting on her couch and then with a different face at book signings. And you just can't know people. People are so much more than they appear and I kind of romanticize this.
I think about being able to catch these motivational thoughts like butterfly's and lay on the couch and close my eyes and shove the butterflies in my mind and they rewire my brain into being different, and opening my eyes motivates. I'm like a machine. The butterfly wings set off a different wave in my brain and I wish I could hold onto it, but I know I can't. Rewiring my brain is like standing in front of an inspirational quote and admiring it and thinking it would be nice if I could think that way all the time, but as soon as I turn my head the thought is lost, much like how my thoughts are committing suicide off into the abyss when I'm not writing them down. The bars on the cage of my mind are too wide and the butterflies fly out. The light only turns on when I'm staring at it, and I can't just stand there and stare at it because I have to live. I'm a laptop computer and I loose my charge. I need plugged in. There is just no getting away from that plug for very long before I'm back in that room of my mind again in the dark.
And I find myself folding laundry earlier, but I'm not, I'm staring into space zoning out into all these weird images and thoughts and I wonder if other people think like this too, or maybe I have some extreme ADD, and maybe I have something wrong with me and maybe I'm crazy, just a little bit, and I think of that time I was taking adderall how I didn't think like this, and how I felt a part of me had been amputated. It felt wrong and I couldn't navigate. It was like fishing in a lake with no fish, but now there are so many fish I can't concentrate and adderall kills my thoughts. It dries up my lake and I'm standing on a peer looking down at a dried up lake and my fish are dying. Damn adderall. But then it's peaceful. I'm standing next to a boom box and adderall walked up, winks at me, and turns off the music. It's like someone has been playing music non stop in my head and they quit changing the station constantly and then there is blankness. And I can think linear but it's all so 2 dimensional. I've lost my inner world and I've been locked out, and I beat on the door but adderall won't let me in. It's creative constipation.
And I think how I'd like to ride the waves of others mind patterns. Just hold on for the ride, and maybe that's why I like reading because it's probably as close as it gets...And I just want a little taste of them all to compare too, and maybe some are sour and some are sweet and everyone is their own individual symphony and some I like the tune of some more than others, and some symphony's most people like more than others. And you can repeat others symphony's but it lacks the originality, the passion, the fervor, and it would be sad to live the life of imitation. And I want to understand why people do it, I want to understand why people would do anything, I want to be everyone, but I'm scared to ride a wave of a sick person because I'm afraid I'll get dirty on the inside. I'm afraid I'll understand them and maybe some things I don't want to understand and here I'll be stuck with this disease forever. But it's so tempting. They say don't touch the red button and then the red button haunts me. I'm eve and it's the fruit.
And I wonder about the rightness of the world. Is there a right song, and am I trying to move towards it, like a moth to the flame. Sure there are different perspectives, but is their a right one? And Im in this place and I see all these strings jutting out before me, like strings on a guitar, and they start vibrating like all the chords have been struck, and they fade into one. Is this how it is, or is it like picking the right cord. I don't think I can understand it. I don't think my mind can fathom it.