The Cellar - Automatic Writing

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- - Automatic Writing (http://cellar.org/showthread.php?t=18423)

Automatic Writing

go into microsoft word or it's equivalent.
set font size to 1 or 2 - smaller than you can possibly read

type until you are done.

make it big, fix egregious spelling errors, post as-is.
give it a title.

Quote:

Let The Houses Cry, a memory from Bedlam.

Once when I was a kid I saw a ghost, not a ghost, the ghost of a ghost. It was like someone had died, and then been so lonely being dead they died again. And when youve already died twice what do you do? You cry, theres nowhere else to go youre dead youre gone youre a ghost, but not even a visible, real ghost, the ghost of a ghost, the invisible dark sadness in a room in a house in old houses, those big lonely old mansions like you see crooked old aunts withering away and dying in and leaving to their handsome nephew who is really a detective in those bad detective movies. Those houses. Big houses that just feel lonely all the time feel like theyre going to collapse inwards just to get it all over with. The ghosts, the ghost-ghosts, they live in these houses and cry, but they all cry together but not together, they cry at the same time but they cant see eachother, cant feel eachother, cause theyre all just ghosts of ghosts, and theyre all so lonely cause they cant die but cant live and cant talk and cant see or hear or anything only feel and they feel so lonely and they live in the houses together and make them dark, and that mold you see isnt mold its their tears staining the ground and the walls, and when I was a kid I saw one out of the corner of my eye so I whipped around and caught him, grabbed him so fast he couldnt cry on me and make me sad, and told him I loved him and he melted, he died one last time, and was gone, done, happy again after all this time, so I ran through the house screaming I love you! I love you! Someone loves you, house and ghosts and tears and everything I love you I love you and I gave the house a big hug, I ran around the house hugging as far as my arms would reach, hugging each brick and plank of wood, and my mommy and daddy didnt like me running and hugging and they called doctor but doctor didnt know what to do so he said ill have to bring him with me. And now the house is still crying mister! The ghosts are still crying! Please let me go hug it more? Please? Please?

Quote:

Out For A Night, a memory from Bedlam

On lonely cold nights I watch the moon rise, and set, all in one night, and sometimes I watch it twice or three times before I go to bed. Its okay I have the time. Nobody bothers me here in my room anyway. I keep it cold to keep out the fire outside. The sounds and the drums and the music is just there to drown out the wails. Not my wails, their wails, about everything I love and hate but oh, how I wish they would come wail in here, how I wish just one of them out side would talk to me speak to me let me in or let me out and would take me somewhere fun and safe and happy where I can see and hear and feel and touch everyone that isnt just right in my window, not screaming at them though tubes and gadgets but seeing them, feeling them touching them loving them, loving each and every one cause everyone should be lived, why wouldnt I love even though theyve hurt me so bad all the time they hurt me and forget me but they dont mean it they dont mean to its not their fault I forget sometimes that they forget sometimes that im in here alone not hiding away but cloistered imprisoned stuck up here in this lonely room with just a bed and a box, a shiny useless metal box to keep me company why do I stay why would I stay if I could go please let me go out with you go see a show go eat a meal go be with you be your friend talk and laugh and just see someone else in my life outside my room, just for a night. Will you go out with me for a night? Will you let me out for a night?

The Morning Struggle

I wake up on my side clutching my pillow to my head. I’m somewhat achy and stiff so I know I didn’t sleep well. I roll over and try to relax my body, try to get comfortable. It works for a few moments but then I start to feel restless. I smell coffee in my head and decide to give up and get out of bed earlier than I wanted to. The thought of a drinking a good cup of coffee while doing my thing in front of the computer always makes getting up easier.

The smallest font size I can get is 8, which is fairly legible still, so I did it in white, then changed it to black when I was done. Im not a good creative writer, but I really like this technique.

I do this every morning by hand (well, I try every morning) as part of The Artist's Way. I write whatever comes into my head as a way of aloowing myself personal expression in writing without pressure.

If I tried this now, I would not produce anything creative, I would just ramble on about how dirty my fingernails are after repotting my cactus and such-like.

Good luck to you if stream-of-consciousness works for you though.

Quote:

Originally Posted by Sundae Girl (Post 493614)

:)

I need to get back into this habit again. It has always helped me in the past...even when I was writing about how pissy and tired I was in the morning.

Quote:

Originally Posted by case (Post 493621)

:)

even when I was writing about how pissy and tired I was in the morning.

*umph*

And I don't forget who got me onto it either :)

Quote:

The Girl Outside, a memory from Bedlam
Seeing her pass there outside my window drives me mad. I see her and it drives me mad. I love her I know I do I know I love her. The way she smiles, laughs, the way she laughs and smiles is beautiful. She passes by my window and she's beautiful. She doesnt see me watching. She's beautiful and she doesnt see me watching, and I love her. sometimes at night I imagine she's downstairs, under the floor, under my floor, under me, I imagine she's under me and she is beautiful and I love her. The doctors say no I dont love her I dont know her I havent seen her shes not there but I know shes there and I know she loves me. One day she'll come up here and save me and she is beautiful. She'll save me from the room where I sleep, take me away where they wont let me go where I cant go and I love her, and she'll say to me soft and sweet that she'll love me always and she's beautiful, and she'll sing soft and sweet and the notes will reach above all the trees and buildings and s she loves me. I see her pass on the street and I know she will come for me. She talks to me in my sleep she hums sweet lullabies like im a baby like im a child but im not a child im not her child im her lover and I am, she is beautiful. She loves me and I, she, I love her, she is beautiful and I love her. Why do they tell me I cant see her that they cant see her that I cant see cant love that I cant love her and she's beautiful, and I know I love her theyre wrong, but I can't see cant understand what they mean, shes my love, my beautiful maiden in a red hempen dress, shes beautiful and I love her, and she's stuck down there downstairs down on the ground alone where nobody can see her and shes all alone and I love her and I ill go to her, I need to save her, I need to save my princess, please let me save my princess, she's my love and let me out let me same my princess and I love her, shes beautiful, let me save her let me...

Quote:

Any Other Name, a memory from Bedlam
A dozen, two dozen, three dozen roses, I buy them and send them to I buy her roses every day, not a lot, sometimes only a rose. I leave them on her doorstep. I'm not a stalker, nothing like that. Shes just keeping me a secret. So I have to be secretive. I have to secretly leave her the roses. Theyre such lovely roses. I pick them myself some times. There's a bush of roses outside her house. Her apartment. I cant always pick them there cause she's sometimes watching. I cant pick them when shes watching. Sometimes I buy them. I dont have a lot of money but sometimes I guy them. She really did love me. She just couldnt talk to me. I know she likes me. Sometimes when I buy flowers instead of picking them I buy her plastic ones. Fabric ones. All of those kinds. I buy her fake roses sometimes, I bought them exactly fourty-four times over the whole year I gave her roses. Thats 44 of 365. except I gave her six on christmas and a dozen on valentines so really thats 381 flowers. But 44 of them were fake and permanent. You know that quote about, I will love you till the last rose dies, and one of them is fabric so it can't die? Those fake roses don't die. They didnt die.

After the year, actually really exactly one year after I started, it was april, mid april, april 23rd that I started, she left. I came back the next day and the rose was still on her porch. And then after that and after that three four five days so I went in. I broke a window and went through but it was empty. She hadnt said goodbye, she hadnt said anything since... well since we started, we hadnt talked since... since ever, and she didnt tell me bye, she didnt tell her lover bye, but she loved me, she had to love me, even though she never spoke to me...

in the back room under the remains of a broken disused dresser, in the bottom of a wooden box, I found forty-four plastic and fabric roses, each neatly laying next to eachother in the box, pinned down next to a beautifully written note in perfect handwriting with just a single word...
Goodbye.

Quote:

D.C. Dream
Between george's monolithic spire and the and abe's eternal throne sits a pool, a long pond, a green and brown with age and algae. They call it the reflection pool but it doesnt reflect, not anymore. I remember looking down into it and not seeing my face not seeing anything but being scared of the deep the depths, there were monsters in there I thought, but my mommy told me no, dont be scared, and then she pointed up at the steps ahead and I saw him there, a big man almost, no, not almost, genuinely larger than life, and he was talking but I couldnt keep up I knew he was talking but I couldnt tell what he was saying, there were so many people yelling and even some old ladies crying and I didnt understand, didnt know what they were all talking about, and then my mommy started to clap and I started leaning forward again, then with a plop I plopped right into the water and of course I couldnt swim, and all I heard was a dull roar then a splash, and I looked up as I came outta the water and there was a tall man with blonde hair and he picked me up and I could breathe again and my mommy was crying and thanking him, and still spitting and coughing water I looked across the pool and I saw the big man at the steps and he looked at me as he was talking and paused and he smiled at me, a powerful and sombre smile, just for a tiny second, and I could breathe and I was alive and then my mommy grabbed me from the blonde man and hugged me close, and she made sure I was okay, and I was okay, and she set me down but held onto me to make sure I didnt fall again, and I pointed at the big man on the steps and said the big man loves me mommy! He smiled at me! And she said oh baby the reverend loves us all look at him up there and I said but he smiled at me mommy, and she said thats great baby, now let me listen, and I sat there on the wall around the green-brown pool and watched the big man talk, and the people cheer, and I smiled.

Then about five years later my mommy was watching the tv and she was crying and they kept showing this motel, but there was this yellow ribbon on it and police officers all around. And they showed a picture on the screen, and it was the big man from the steps, and my mommy kept crying harder, and I pointed and said thats the big man from washington and she said yes and I said he loves me mommy and she said, yes baby, yes he did, yes he did baby, and he always will, he always will, we all owe him and we all love him and he loved us.