Stream-of-consciousness experiment 1

An experiment in stream of consciousness writing. Any attempts to discern meaning are futile and any adverse consequences from any such attempts are solely the responsibility of the reader. -Ed.

Most typos will remain unedited unless I catch them quickly.

Come hither and I will tell you a tale of a time long past,
when all the world was gray
no man had yet set foot upon the endless coast and all the world was silent
no world to speak of in fact, for such a word implies form.
Likewise any failed attempts before had been washed away.
From the ther there was a sound perhaps if such a word could even convey and then, a light. Dazzling if there had been but eyes to see it. No doubt shining brilliantly in the not yet formed sky. Wha thtis imports for the future is for no man to know. Come now and bring yourself to the edge so oft spoken of by so many before as if there were some cusp that we could discern. For there will always be a blurry line, the border itself unknowable, that will forever delineate both the reach and grasp of our consciousness. The reach will speak of things in tired terms that we nonetheless hope to communicate, while the grasp will remain forever implanted in the things we have heard and tasted and touched before. There is no story of sound. Nor of taste. The written word conveys first and foremost a description for the eyes. It is our first limitation. It should speak to any wary mind of the natural instinct which must not be trusted. For if we behin to trust in our speculation and rationalize the consequence of random firings of the neurons nesteled deep within, then we have already fallen into the familiar fabled patterns of those who have come before. The energy burn must be for skepticism, the most entropic of all processes. We must forever doubt for by doubting we can hope to question the reach and the grasp. Our assemblage of energy and matter will operate beyond and under our awareness and our ability to self-reflect, and we must nevertheless struggle with the hints and suggestions of the hidden parts - the place begind the eyes, the sounds between the ears, the flavor of the parts forever separated from our tongue. To truly know. To understand the notion of omniscience. What forgotten, what knowable, what never-know thing must we have become before we begin. Tonight under the glow of fiction's sun, I speak through touch of unspeakable. I speak with eyes closed in ryhthmic motion of the neck and head and while I slowly sink into semi slumber I will try for the briefest of moments to penetrate the ugly cloud of constant thought and try to send a signal from the core of nausea of something new. I am done.

This is my limitation.