On Bigness

I have never really experimented too much with writing in a stream of consciousness. Some of my poetry is stream of consciousness-esque, but I tend to edit while I write and usually end up forcing something that started out stream of consciousness into a coherent structure and line of though, so it doesn't really count. I felt like writing something today, but wasn't sure what, so I decided to give it a shot, and this is what happened.

the page is yellow like flames, and the heat illuminates words that sear in my mind as surely as they are blackened on this paper. it is crisp in my hand and i can smell the age on it. it is a wondrous smell, deeper than the sea and carrying more weight. how much weight there must be at the bottom of the ocean. I have carried ten gallons of water and it was a burden that made me wish for the might of hercules, i am not nearly so strong as i wish, am thought, or presume to be, but i was strong enough to carry that water, and i thought it a terrible load, but it was just ten gallons and there are millions in the ocean. the sheer weight of it is inconceivable and sometimes i feel that such huge numbers could overcome my mind like a tidal wave, like thinking of infinity vanishing into the crushing force of a black hole which swallows and spits out an infinity in itself, at least it seems like it, but my mind cannot conceive of such weighty sums; it prefers smaller numbers--less than ten is nice, but sometimes one or two is more than enough, you see, i am not all that good at making decision and the fewer the options, the better: that is why infinity is such a frightening concept. who knows what can happen in infinity, and the contemplation of it almost seems to swallow me up as surely as my bones will someday be swallowed up by time, long after my soul has been lost to eternity.