A good friend once told me that inspiration only ever hits at the most inappropriate of times. Unfortunately I found this to be true and so here I sit like a crazed writer diseased with insomnia and buzzing on over doses of caffeine, trying to convert this itch of an idea into words. It's a bizarre sensation; wanting to say something without knowing exactly what it is.
Fortunately there is a method behind this train of thought; "The Stream of Consciousness." William James coined the term to explain certain literary and psychological devices that the human mind experiments with. It's unbelievable that just by writing spontaneously, one can pull some great thoughts out the mystery of expression. Virginia Woolf, regarded as a pillar of modernist literature, is famous for her experimentation with the Stream of Consciousness. She seemed to dazzle and even frighten literary critics, seemingly displaying the potential of human expression.
So here I am still, now though with a firm grasp on whatever got me to sit down in the first place. Each one of us has an expressive little goblin waiting to gnaw his way out and spew inspiration all over the place. Sadly a lot of the time we choose to ignore that artistic side that I believe in encompassed in development. So I say to finish; art (in all creative shapes and forms) is the sub-conscious expression of the human's understanding of a twisted reality, never ignore that.
Now that wasn't so hard.
P
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