Like Hamlet, all about words, words, words...

I'm in a very literary mood. I feel as though I'm falling back in love with literature. We've always sort of had something going on (metaphorically,) and right now we're certainly going steady. (I sure hope that you, the hypothetical audience, enjoy my metaphors as much as I do.) I'm excited about this blog post, because there is a lot I want to tie into it. I notice when writing something logical, like an essay or a journal entry, that after I've written the first few lines, I've acquired a mental list of all the events, stories, points, feelings, or any other expressable thing I want to write about. All of this occurs in seconds, maybe less, while another part of my mind focuses on those first few lines. Right now, if I were to attempt to compile them as a bulleted list, it may look like this:

• Abulafia


• Connections


• Barnes & Nobles


• My dream-college acceptance


• My birthday


• STAC


• poetry

I admit, I tacked on "poetry" at the end after I had written STAC, it wasn't in my mind that way beforehand. At least, not the physical word. Only a feeling I felt, that I felt would flow through my words somehow. I often find that when I write I get an emotion, and I find a way to express it through words. Often the emotion doesn't come in until I've already begun to write, because the words inspire the emotion. Then the emotion spills out into the writing, etcetera, andI they form a circle.

Already I feel as though this blog is far too wordy, digressing all over itself, nonsensical, blah blah blah. This, of course, CONNECTS to ABULAFIA. Abulafia is, to a certain anonymous character, a machine in which to basically pour out his verbal soul. I find, as he did, that it is definitely a different feeling when typing out your stream of consciousness, because you often do not know where it's headed, and you wish, after typing something, to click Backspace, Backspace, tap tap tap until your head sounds the way you wish it would. Honestly, at this point, I'm quite sure the only person on the world who is still reading up to this point has to be myself. Who else could stay with my own darting mind for so long?

A pause, while I put up my hair. Now my mind has shifted. I'm calmer, my mind feels more connected to itself. That's given me a mental picture of The Matrix nesting grounds, with the tubes connecting into themselves and others and each other until all the different connections are forming one gigantic brain.

I've lost my stream of consciousness. I blinked, and the blink lasted longer than I expected, and my mind went into a resting position. I don't know what I ought to ponder right now. So, I'll scroll back upwards and look at my list, and when I return to write, I'll be somewhere else entirely.

Right, Barnes & Nobles. I went there today, and I saw it through a new perspective. Woah, look at that, it connects to the paragraph above. Holy shit, how neat is that? Yes, Barnes & Nobles is a beautiful place for a bookworm. Imagine, for a moment, being a child about waist-high to your parents, who are walking with you through a door and-what's this?! The most magical candy store you've ever seen. Now, take that mental occasion, complete with all the feelings, and multiply it by 6. That's what walking into a bookstore feels like for me. At least 6 times better than walking into a candy store, certainly. Ice cream melts, paper stays crisp. Candy is gone the second you enjoy it, books are permanent (unless they're destroyed.)

Oh gosh, that was too long of a tangent. Here is a new paragraph to begin where I thought I would go with the thought above. Geez, I just realized this has got to be the longest blog I've ever written. Maybe not actually. Maybe it only feels that way. TANGENT! The last time I went to Barnes & Nobles, I came in and walked around the perimeter of the entire store. I read the bookshelf titles, from Self-Improvement to Historical Fiction to Mystery all the way to good old Nonfiction shelf upon Nonfiction shelf. I went to the same store tonight, but where last time I hovered between fiction novels and graphic novels, today I scanned the Religion shelves. I perused the Mystery section for Reed. (Unfortunately, I forgot his last name. It's close to impossible to find a book based solely upon forename.) I spent a few minutes smiling at the Checkovs and Becketts on the Theatre shelves. I especially enjoyed the Religious Fiction shelves, which-hey! look at that!- has another connection with Luke's facebook photos. Boy, they even had some scrumptious Bible-book-covers for purchase.

This connects to a lot of things. My DePaul interview, Foucault's Pendulum, My Library and how I love it so... I'll choose to connect to DePaul, because I just rechecked my original list, and I want to wrap this blog up already. I do have a life you know, hypothetical reader. If you're still with me, I can't believe it. The next time you see me in person, you should let me know we spent this much time together. I feel I probably ought to know our relationship has reached this point, don't you?

So, DePaul ties into STAC ties into Foucault's Pendulum ties into Mystery workshop ties into etc. etc. etc. Right now, I'm feeling an enormous rush of gratitude towards STAC for getting me into college. Well, maybe that's too broad and extremist. Thank you STAC for getting me into the Creative Arts. No, wait, I was in them before STAC, because I needed to be in them to get into STAC. Boy, connections? Okay, let me try this thank-you again.

Hey STAC. Thanks for progressing me in all directions. I am the playdoh to your rolling pin; stretch me out any path I can go. What a funky metaphor for a thank you.

Let me check my list really quickly to see what else I need to say before I can click Publish Post and go to bed.

Oh, happy birthday to me. Yay!

Okay, you can go do something else now.

Bye.