An intent of writing is to heal and awaken. Words dancing off the page aiming their medicine into the topical condition and back to the scribe. Being judged or judged not, supported, or supported not, loved or not.
An experiment in stream of conscience:
'...Went into the place, left, salt picture too blurry from fade, this is too bright, the books will fall, falling, too late, old, it worked for Edith Head, check that...mark of Cain, and that, metaphor, is that something, expected but never believed when it happens, Dad Gum, needs an illustration...'
All things being equal, stream of consciousness sounds this side of mad.
Dominate cherub so not to hoard the impossibly irresistible troupe disease.
One of those meaningless mnemonic device sentences that you construct as a list and be able to remember despairing particulars you would otherwise forget if you tried to recall them separately.
...But then using reason doesn't always make sense neither.