Stream of consciousness can be very off-putting, especially when coupled with the crime of anti-capitalisation. So I can’t imagine what kind of good mood I was in when I came across My Life As A Piece Of String. There is so much not to like about it, and yet…
I keep going back for more. So there is obviously something about these irritating 500-word rants I can’t resist.
Maybe it is because they are clever, or because they go straight to a hidden truth that dare not speak its name.
The author (who I call simply “String”) seems permanently stranded in a psychological hellhole, an escape room of the mind where only a frantic jumble of non-stop words will fit the stubborn lock.
In a recent posting, String is pissed off about ants. They’re all over the place, scuttling at his feet, flying in his face. He drives himself into a neurotic frenzy as he watches them invade his entire being.
Only when he reaches the destination of his tortured unravelling does he find that the ants are not actually real after all. They are a cuddly metaphor for the hell that is other people.