Secret Mojo Dumbs It Down for You

September 2, 2006

Word salad train wreck

Filed under: creativity,writing — secretmojo @ 11:00 am

As an exercise in honesty and shame, I offer an example of a word salad gone wrong. If you can bear reading it, notice how I snap out of it, bitch at myself, then try again with riffs on the word “life”—ultimately abandoning the session.

It served to clear my throat, maybe, but not much else. The danger of word salads is my embrace of sloppy, listless thought (disengagement?), which this one shows quite nicely.

I have no idea what my mind did wrong here. I just couldn’t catch a wave.

Philadelphian flags roared above the shouts of firemen. Unknown licks of flame tickled their extremities, sending shudder pens vaulting towards the stars. Lefty picked a nose pimple, walking upwards upon the air. Superhero? Hardly. Techno-bust? Maybe. Though the story cannot tell you where it came from; you’ll figure that on your own as scrollbars get your click.

Acidic lunch hasn’t strutted mint enough to show him how land (as in farm, not airplane) made down. Clearly, amethyst won’t purplate you if you keep it from the sun. This is the Mars conundrum. Is it sand, or is it burnt sienna? In reality, it matters less than the shadow turquoise. Turquoise can be blue, green, or under a shade of red that produces orange. But it is still turquoise.

Which is why monkeys don’t pick their anuses on sundown. Scent stays well in the heat, just as pain grows acute in the cold. Not! I, or rather he, am upset with Easter. She never liked it. So we found something better to do than hand out eggs. Which I thought was a great decision on your part.

Did that cover it? All forgot everyone. But that’s absolutist, extreme, without the pan pan under-shazamm that is so indicative of spatula wielding.

Ah. This tires. Perhaps because—I hate “perhaps.” I use that bastard word so fucking often I want to pluck its vocal chords out.

And what is this “under-”? A prefix suited for the mystic, or the hypnotist? If so, then what of “Banana”, or all the “B” words? There’s an algorithm for that, ‘cept Reimann isn’t around to draw it on paper, so we’ll never know.

Yesteryear, or Eonyear, what became of you? Life, live, livid, livery. Liver. Is that what we are, the living? Livers? And those of us who avoid direction, preferring the world to guide us into slots that steer our flow, aren’t we half-lifes, Chopped Livers?

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4 Comments »

  1. This one was quite interesting too, just seemed to lose steam before something caught. You are a brave one… thanks for putting this out there and showing the process. It’s actually quite inspiring.

    Regards

    Comment by fencer — September 3, 2006 @ 8:16 am | Reply

  2. And while we’re talking about schizophrenic symptoms I have a “neologism” (newly invented word) for you. The word “boddler” (for a crawling infant: who’s no longer a baby and not quite a toddler) Maybe schizophrenia has a lot to contribute to writing after all.

    Comment by sonael — September 6, 2006 @ 10:27 pm | Reply

  3. This sounds like great fun. I must be schizoprenic!

    Comment by Sandra — September 7, 2006 @ 12:19 pm | Reply


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