is what I call it when I write stream of conscious for a long time. none of it is usable or worth sharing. i just picture a plain white room slowly filling with piles of bullshit. that's my writing process.
i tell myself to just keep going, even if I have to write "i don't know" or "i don't feel like writing anymore." and then something else comes out to add to the pillowy bullshit.
the bullshit is pillowy so I can throw myself around the room without knocking my head against the hard floor or walls, i guess. seems better to imagine pillowy bullshit than hard, compacted pellety bullshit.
it's all bullshit and it stinks and it's hard to deal with. it came from inside a messy place, and now it's making a mess in this empty room.
i try to reassure myself that it's all fine. this room is designated for the pillowy bullshit, so it's fine if it's a mess. this is where it goes.
I try to get comfortable and focused on allowing it to pile up in the room. bullshit is fertilizer. i'm going to need a lot of bullshit to keep my garden alive.
can't let myself be too impatient. gardens require a whole lot of bullshit and time.