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by literati 

Posted: 21 February 2004
Word Count: 362
Summary: stream of consciousness writing

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(1) My life is Dickensian, with a touch of Renaissance, keystone cops, Mother Theresa and Lily Savage. What a combination. What a motley collection of influences. Still, I think I am sane and sanitised, and on the way to being saintly! God means a lot to me, in my life he protects and directs and expects something of me. I wish I knew what though! That is Mother Theresa. What can I say about Lily Savage, trannys, pink passion, clubbing all night and emotional happiness/unhappiness? As for keystone cops, speed of change and chaotic circumstances, and people steam rollering me into things and situations. The Renaissance period brings colour, opulence, richness, texture, sensualness and magnificence. As for Dickensian: humdrum, workaday, trivialising, poor struggling workhouse wench. I've forgotten another factor of utter import, that of Leonardo da Vinci. Intelligence, curiosity, love of beauty, and a clear brain. What a bloody mixture. That is how I see myself. It would be interesting to have knowledge of the degrees, or amounts of each. I would say currently, Dickensian 40%, Leonardo da Vinci 30%, Mother Theresa 10%, Renaissance 10%, Lily Savage 7.5%, and keystone cops 2.5%! Absolutely hilarious. What would I like it to be? I know, Barbara Cartland 50%, a combination of Lily Savage, Renaissance, Mother Theresa and keystone cops! External mobility! Plus Stephen Hawking 50%, a combination of Leonardo da Vinci, and Albert Einstein! Wonderful, brilliant, internal motility!

(2) Face down on a desert, full of golden grainy, crumbly sand. Not one or two grains, but lying on 60 billion. First off, and as far as the eye can see, a million, billion, trillion, zillion grains. All exactly the same in colour, shape, weight, consistency, texture. Separately minute, but laying together. One huge golden duvet. Tucked under mountains at one end, rocky terrain at the other. Surrounded by scrubby slippers of vegetation, and each time the wind blows, all clinging together for protection. Then moving en masse to another part of the golden duvet. Rearranging in one gigantic shakeup. Covering the ground beneath, closely, warmly. Its mountainous pillows unmoving, unyielding. Refusing to be adjusted. Its pillow cases changing only with the change of seasons.

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Comments by other Members

Nell at 08:05 on 22 February 2004  Report this post
Hi Angela, and welcome to WriteWords. The shortness of this piece makes it difficult to comment on, and memoirs and stream of consciousness are not my speciality, but I can give you my impressions. You come across in the first part as wonderfully exuberant and quick witted, and I gained a real feel of what you're about. I had to stop and re-read in one place - That is Mother Theresa - and felt the 10% etc. would have read better written in words, or possibly even shown throughout the book rather than stated at the very beginning. (Just my own thoughts, see what others think.) After 'What can I say about... I wanted to know what you would say about those disparate things, but possibly that all comes later. The first piece left me somewhat teased, I wanted to know more about you, but again, possibly that was intentional.

The second part reads like fiction, the beginning of a novel or short story, but perhaps just a glimpse into your mind, an original way of seeing. I couldn't help wondering if you were lying in the desert, with that wonderful image of the golden duvet, and again, I wanted to know more, always a good thing! I'm interested in seeing where you take this - there's always a danger of descending into self-indulgence with stream of consciousness, but you've awakened my interest, if not fascination in your life - surely what any good memoir is meant to achieve early on.

Best, Nell.

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