Mental
Being a good fiction writer essentially means you’re schizophrenic.
I just give the voices names and faces; histories and then I let them tell their stories on paper.
❤
curro ergo sum
cogito ergo doleo
Archive for the ‘ Observations ’ Category
Oddly enough
It’s a listening to pennywise drinking straight espresso kind of Sunday.
And as soon as I typed that my shuffle left pennywise and went to the subways.
Hence the straight espresso.
And it’s now about fourteen hours after I started this post. I’ve got a wicked cold-allergy thing going on, so I’ve spent most of the last couple of days in bed being useless.
Which is nice, just not when I’m crazy stressed about a deadline.
Annnnd twelve more hours:
Although it’s not as bad as all that, my creativity has returned with a vengeance, making up for lost time.
Being a writer is an odd thing in my estimation.
I rather like it though.
❤
Life or something like it
I am finally free.
I want to jump off of something very high, with a chute of course.
Sometimes your feet are moving of their own accord, and there’s a big difference between knowing the path and walking the path.
I am right when and where I am supposed to be in my life. As everything starts to fall into place, I can feel the muscles in my face form a smile; unbidden, slightly ironic and decidedly mischievous.
Loose ends tied. Baggage checked at the door.
Metamorphosis complete. There are thousands of words in my personal lexicon, many more available through my dictionary app, not a one can describe how I feel right now.
I rather like that.
❤
Eternal Sunshine/spotted mind
This week of last year, my life was flipped on it’s head. It still resonates today.
I find myself placing memories in a box, sealing it with tape. The shuffle on my iPhone seems to understand exactly what I’m trying to say.
I’m pushing everything into a form that I will soon step outside of. Seeking with a sick kind of desperation to escape.
I let every pained grimace, every rip and tear in my heart, every thought that sends saline washing down my cheeks, flow over me.
I let it all hit me at once, let it break and re-form me. There is almost a strange sort of joy in allowing it all to flow through.
I find strength in the weaknesses that have led to this point; I look back and see every juncture that had I only been a little stronger, a little more sure, a bit more…fierce in my heart.
I can let all of the grief and rage leave me, I can step outside of sadness, placing it firmly in that box.
A little older, a little wiser. I vow to never break. Not again, not like this.
I wonder, often, why I must internalize everything so fully, why I need to feel everything so completely that I risk destroying myself. This always leads me to wonder what it is about intensity that so draws me to it; moth buzzing a candle, flickering, twisting-turning, my wings are always almost ablaze.
❤
Matrices
…a man needs something he can hold onto, a nine-pound hammer or a woman like you, either one of those things will do…a picture of you holding a picture of me in the pocket of my blue jeans, still don’t know what love means…
That resonates today, equal parts anguish and angst.
Suspended animation, ice running through my veins. Trapped here in the melancholy of my memory.
The rollercoaster of (my) life is more about misery than amusement lately. I find myself oddly comforted by quantum mechanics today; many worlds theory. I can look back and see every choice that has led to this place.
Like signposts, or in my mind matrix theory; a black canvas lit up in glowing blues, whites and reds, each glowing ball a decision – roads flowing from each to other matrices. The colors signify my belief in the correctness of a particular decision that led to a particular time and place.
I can see where I have done things perfectly, horribly or simply made the only choice available in certain situations. I find the map grows fuzzy where choices were taken out of my hands; balls dropped, things broken.
Somewhere out there, in an alternate reality, filmy and half-real, is a me who does everything right.
I wonder what he has learned from his life.
❤
Crashbox
Annoyed, I wrote a fairly long post and my app crashed and deleted it.
I remember most of it, however the reasons and emotions that had guided the way I wrote them down, the wordplay and grammar/syntax/structure of the writing are all now several hours old.
You can never feel something exactly the same way twice. It’s why I like to capture the immediacy of every moment.
Ugh. I think I’m actually really pissed about this. That, in and of itself, is remarkable.
❤
Punctum Est?
So much running through my mind, twisting, turning- turning into an unpalatable soup, of sorts.
Waking up at the start of the end of the world,
But it’s feeling just like every other morning before,
Now I wonder what my life is going to mean if it’s gone,
The cars are moving like a half a mile an hour
And I started staring at the passengers who’re waving goodbye
Can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time?
Words are deserting me faster than rats fleeing a sinking ship.
I seem to be having such trouble sorting through what I’m feeling these days. And it’s odd because I feel like I’m not feeling anything. It’s almost as if I’m watching it happen to someone else.
I do feel an odd sort of coldness, as though my heart has been replaced with a chunk of ice. Dry, colder than liquid nitrogen; I am almost surprised when I don’t see frost on my fingers or a filmy, frozen steam when my breath leaves my body.
But that is purely physiologic, I am not certain how to explain the curious distance between my mind and my heart. They have always been at odds with one another, often violently opposed, always vocal (in a sense) with their disagreements, but now the silence is deafening.
I’ve lost something of myself, and I don’t know how- or even if I should try- to get it back.
I feel, well that’s just it, I feel nothing. No. Thing.
❤
Gainfully
I feel gloriously alive this morning. I’ve always wondered what a snake feels like after it sheds it’s old skin and becomes comfortable in it’s new one.
I bet it’s something like this.
❤
Memo
Nemo dat quod non habet.
Es bedeutet: Niemand gibt, was er nicht hat. Ou en français si vous préférez: personne ne donne ce qu’il n’a pas.
“No one gives what he doesn’t have.”
Truism.
❤
Quest-ions
Searching, seeking, wander-wondering, wishing.
I am a seeker. I search for answers, for understanding. I wonder about everything, I always have.
It’s one of the major driving forces in my life. I need to understand everything and everyone around me.
The eclectic mixture that made up my undergrad curriculum shows a pattern, like a gridded-off search area, the quest for answers is written in bold on my transcripts.
The machinery of the universe is in the background, my quest has always been one of somehow quantifying the human experience.
Are we human beings having spiritual experiences or spirits having a human experience?
The answer is in the journey, but it’s question that drives me.
❤
i a m/a m i
c l e a r l y c r a z y
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curro ergo sum 