Streams of consciousness.
These are one of my favourite forms of writing, but also the most frustrating. My mind is never quiet, never silent, until whenever I sit down to write. Silence.
I read a post on ‘Note to Self’. Sarah sat down and she wrote, and it was brilliant. It seems, though my perspective could be mistaken, that we have lost the art of honesty (if human kind ever had it in the first place). We are curated, conscious, articulated and groomed characters of ourselves. We redact, skew, and misrepresent to the point where we are not ‘us’, we are the bits that society will adore until it does not.
I worked out in-between these two paragraphs. I thought that would help but no I feel much the same. This post is a break from having a grand idea, instead I hope you seize your mind for one day and think of little more than how wonderful the birds sound in the morning and how quiet your bedroom is at night.
Photography by Daniela.