A Brainstorm (Almost) Unedited

brainstorm real

Quick! Abandon ship!

The rats always know when it’s time to leave.

Should I share my brainstorm with you?

Should I share my brain with you?

My unedited thoughts?

I’ve always been more comfortable with knowing that it was safely tucked away behind my eyes. Even though they say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, you cannot see my thoughts no matter how long you stare into these balls of goo. And maybe that’s for the best. Even if you saw a flicker, it depends on what it sounds like you saw, what I was thinking at the time and the direction of the wind whether I would admit to having a thought like that.

Would you profit from reading my brainstorm? The raw material, unpolished, unhewn even. It is of course not as raw as some things in my brain; it has been through my conscious mind and fingers first, still, would you enjoy wearing two pieces of cloth, kept together with pins?

The metaphor is not perfect, but this is what you get when you get the unedited text.

So after this small taste, are you hungry for more?

Would you like to see what happens before the finished text?

Throw me a comment with your answer.


The Stampede

Galloping, galloping, galloping through his mind. His memories have joined his thoughts in a stampede, and he tries to tame them, but they roar at him and threaten to eat him up if he does not back out of their way, and the horse of reason under him neighs and rears and the reins are torn from his hands and

He falls.

He falls much too far.

This hole should have had a bottom.

Perhaps it was swallowed by the lion, like that miniature cake he swallowed at his brother’s birthday, oh, he was so sick afterwards, and the cake should have been for his brother only because his brother was allergic to nuts, and the large birthday cake had walnuts on top and hazel nuts in the middle, and he sees the hazel eyes of the woman who stole that small glass bell in that shop where all the assistants were snobs, and she blinked at him, one finger on her narrow, peach coloured lips and he knew it was wrong, but he did not tell anyone, and anyway those snobs had it coming.



I was at a writing course this weekend which I’ve wanted to write a post about, but I’ve been too busy with other things.

This text is a result of one of the writing exercises from that course, although of course I’ve edited the raw text a bit. We had to write really fast without thinking about what came out, and then the teacher said some words that we had to use in our writing somehow. Before we began we got the word circus. During the exercise we got the words: lion tamer, cake, kleptomania and glass bell.

I hope you’ll enjoy 🙂

Scrapbook vs Diary

There are memories in my scrapbook. Of places and people I once knew. There are pictures of a dog I once had, and exotic fish from a tropical island which I visited with someone special.

They are all right there on the pages as if they had never changed at all. Time is frozen in my scrapbook.

There are thoughts in my scrapbook. Some of the most beautiful thoughts I ever had are there. Thoughts I shared with strangers, thoughts my best friends shared with me, and thoughts I only ever shared with one particular person.

I will probably never think anything to compare with those thoughts again, but they are all there in my scrapbook.

After the last page in my scrapbook there are about two unrecorded months and then there is my diary.

My diary is my life after the scrapbook. In my diary, time crawls at a snail’s pace.

It has entries like:

What will I need to sleep?

–          A large t-shirt. Very big and so worn and soft that the fabric might rip at any time.

–          Boxer shorts, about half a size too big.

–          Sleepytime-socks. Thick, warm, fuzzy.

–          Eiderdown big enough for two.

–          King-size bed, so that I can toss and turn without falling out. Or at least without falling out of bed before half the night is through.

Do I have these things? Yes. Goodnight.

And details like which hand soap I use and where I shop (it is always the same store), and how often (only when I absolutely have to) and long ramblings about my scrapbook and how my diary is compared to it.

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