Flow of Consciousness 1.0

So I read that some French Surrealists have created a great method for creating subversive, yet beautiful, art, by simply the first thing that comes to mind, by simply typing the first thing that comes to mind. I find this idea very interesting and a good way to explore one's self, to uncover what the logical mind buries below. I also intend to make these kinds of entries while I am at least slightly intoxicated, as I am in the present moment, as alcohol tends to impair judgment, allowing for freedom and creativity in expression instead of my typical monotonous rule of reason, as tends to be dominant in my mind, allowing for later discernment of underlying things I had no awareness of. Without further ado, a stream of consciousness entry:

I won't let this build up inside of me. She isn't real. Even if I wanter her to be, it wouldn't matter, for those I have a sort of platonic, semi-amorous love, even among males, abound, while those that may stir passions of the soul deeper than simple attraction, those to whom I would submit my constant stubbornness of disposition, those to whom I would risk vulnerability for freedom, remain few, if non existent. And those who I--perhaps--may find myself thinking about as I passing from conscious nightly, are the unattainable. My tarot reminds me that this is a time of penance for past sins, but what has my karmic sin been that I deserve a fate in which my passions must be suffocated for a superficial life when the soul yearns for something more? If only there were some other option between ignorant bliss, knowing paralysis of the senses, and frustrated desires! The worst part is looking into self and seeing the void of ego, the superficiality, the insignificance of that which is sought, intra- and externally, and the resulting depression of the blood that pumps through an inconsequential heart, in vain. Perhaps, to escape from this trap, the necessary is be the fool, forget the wise, do that which needs not doing and in so doing, create a needs to be fulfilled, if only individually, and perhaps through the luck that always seems to accompany these intuitions we call coincidence, create some beauty. Why, then, even when taking the risks, when reaching with emotional tentacles to reach someone precious, do we end up, with despair, when in times of arrogance we shrug off the open hearts of others? It seems in this manner that he dream of playing a C-chord, C G E C E G C with dominant and root 7th to lull our child to sleep, will never become reality, because love will always roam, wandering an endless abyss, while the unsolved heart stands alone.