With a freewrite, because that's how I do. This is the Lit account of buildingsforbrains just in case you didn't already know...


Finished, fucked up, diminished, wishing, fishing for reasoning in the seasons of falling leaves and snow and clouded visions in a misty hell. We went and got our ears pierced in a girly little parlour, a couple of punk kids shining up and hollering at the misdials and typos in a call center queers. Had one too many beers and I just can't think straight stream of consciousness has got me jumpin' straight up like a salmon in Queens on a plate of sushi and collard greens, oh don't that sound good, it sounds like the best you shot the fish straight out from under your bed. And you see me and Jordan, Tramilla, and Kun are gunna kill you all, kill 'em all off by noon, I'm the punisher and you're Harry Heck, oh God it's too late stop reading, there is a knife in your neck...


And that's kinda how my normal string of thought unwinds...
No thought put into it and not very much time. I type slower than the thoughts come and it kind of annoys me. Damn punctuation, but I'm no Faulkner. I really hope none of my work gets plagiarized, I'd be very upset.

Sincerely,
mike wilk (Never with capitals. I don't deserve it.)