Uninhibited observation

I've recently embarked upon a new journey into the world of words that I like to call 'uninhibited observation'. In a way, all I'm doing is giving a name to the sort of writing I used to do automatically, but since I've hit the dreaded writer's block many times over the last two years, I'm now doing this sort of writing on purpose.

The idea is to pick a subject (or not, but it usually helps) and write on it without wondering if it's any good or if it sounds poetic, just writing, 'uninhibited' by my own judgement and criticism, and hoping that somewhere down the line of words that spew forth, there will be a small piece of slightly-above-average writing that may be salvaged and reused and made into something a little more crafted. I call it 'observation' because for the first one I did I was actually looking at the subject as I wrote. but 'observation' can also mean my thoughts on something that isn't necessarily in front of me at the time of writing.

This is the the first one (exactly as it appears in my notebook), from whence the idea hath sprung:

#

He
deep in thought
Plays his guitar
In the park
Like no one's watching

I, deep in my notebook
keep my distance

He's singing
but I can't make out
the words from here.

He plays with a
reckless abandon
That's somehow calculated

His hands move fast
He fills his space
with sound
and makes it
meaningful.

Competes with traffic
and the wind blowing
the flagpole.
Are they his competition or his
percussion?
His foot taps, his head
nods,
his hands thrust the
neck of the guitar to
the beat.
Rhythm perfect.
He looks around as
he plays
Unphased by the
environment, passers by
city surroundings,
school kids
He's young, maybe
sixteen, but it's
hard to tell from
this distance.
I wonder if his arm
is tired. I wonder
if he sees me here,
across the park,
his solitary audience?
Is he playing his
own material?
I wonder why he is
playing here
I find myself tapping
my foot.
He wears jeans and
a beige shirt
with his brown hair
His appearance
spells musician.
His voice is a
proclamation of the
musical statement
he makes with his
presence in this
park.

#

Wow, it's long! Whaddaya think? It's nothing specky, but there are bits in there that could become something.

I'm very grateful to that young man for inspiring me enough to write a decent spiel and hence get this new idea going. I've written many uninhibited observations since then, and it's only been a few days! (Shock, horror; I've actually written more than once this week!) On the train today I was writing one about honesty and how people need to tell their true stories to feel their lives are validated. My favourite line from it was:

"No strings are attached to the minds and memories of strangers."

It has a ring to it, IMO.

Should really go to bed, seeing how it's 2am and all. I can't help it, I'm a night owl!