Stream of Consciousness Account of What Lies Just Benieth Ones Consciousness

Groping for words out of the basin of silences that amount to unspoken configurations possibly waiting for being voiced and possibly not. Hurtling through days towards uncertain goals that quiver in the shifting perspective as if through a mass of hot summer air. Looking for what may offer a grounding touchstone in the flux of everyday life that get detached from any chance of visibility of its direction, flow or horizon. From I write therefore I am emerges an imperative to maintain willingness to compose another screenful of sentences that may or may not hold together into a whole. Plumbing the depths of my own linguistic alienation from languages I live in, into and through to find a sense of delicate or not so delicate balance of self presentation and representation at one and the same time. Speeding ones stream of consciousness beyond the swamps of what passes for a writer's block of people who do not feel themselves to be writers. The swelling wave of verbal inflation engulfing the information space of the internet searches and indexes that wash indexes of micro-relevance and -visibility ashore of our attention margins. Choosing sense of time by the books that lend its forms from different languages and periods to chart the ever changing present as if it were a landscape to reconnoiter. Willing to read Joyce's Ulysses in German.