I wish I felt this lucid all the time. When it happened I'm not sure but I got jumpstarted and sat down and couldn't stand up. Two, three different books with different purposes. Can't ever do this at home. It's never quiet enough and I don't have a place to sit and lean forward and push down into the pages. I talked about needing a writing desk and not just a desk to put a computer on and what not. Cowboy bebop dubbed is trash. But yeah I thought that was just an excuse. The desk thing. It is, essentially. A real writer a real artist would write genius in the palm of his hand and take a shitty snapshot everyday just to make it really work, to make it really happen. It's less about the audience more about the output. the sun shines because it can't do any other goddamn thing. And it'll be done when it's done. Like when it goes nova it'll care about who is going to freeze. I stopped writing here because I started thinking about who's reading and what's worth sharing and started putting up filters from me to you and started becoming a filing system that organized thoughts into yes/no piles, not okay/totally okay... It's all bullshit anyway in the best way possible. If all you ever read was Asimov and it made you happy, then fuck what they're trying to tell you are the classics. If it's not digestible or reproductive it's worthless.
Evolution's going outward in branches.
Even the species has species.
I'll be in texas in seven and a half days. I stopped drinking as much as I used to not because I was drinking too much but because others around me were drinking too much. I live so far away from where I work that I get nervous to sleep late because I feel like I'll lose my job so I sleep early and am constantly worrying. I like when people think they look like celebrities they don't look like at all. I am still writing down my dreams as often as I have them but I've stopped writing everything else otherwise. What I've become is a video game playing homebody. I don't even listen to new music anymore. I crossed over into the place I was growing into where NOTHING new is impressing me. It's like having the scabbed veins of junky scum and just as fun to talk to. You know what tomorrow is? Another day less of summer.
2 comments:
I completely relate to what you're saying about the mode of output becoming an excuse. For those few years that I barely wrote a word it was always, "Oh, my laptop died on me. It got a virus and the plug stopped working and bleepblorp glimglom." Now, and I'm definitely not the genius you're talking about, but now I just get it down on something. Just get it down. I use my phone. I use whatever computer is close by. At work I've ripped pages out of manuals, used the back of receipts and deposit slips, used any means necessary so I don't forget, worry about compiling and making sense later.
At some point you have to disregard the why. I think that's probably true of life in general, because if you take that game too far it ends in a hangman's knot. You focus on the thing and you keep moving. Keep moving. Over-analysis is over-rated.
I've engaged in the same sort of laziness molded from shitty excuses you allow yourself to perpetuate. for years I told myself I had to rely on others to be able to make music because my fingers were too small and stubby to learn guitar, and I didn't have money for a Natoli-esque studio. now at least I broke that habit and I'm making music that is 100% mine. shitty music right now, granted, but at it's mine.
otherwise this post made me kinda sad. we need to chill more man. like, a year ago I was in Miami missing the shit out of everyone. I know part of this is my responsibility. so let's make it happen. we've still got some summer left even though it doesn't feel like it.
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