Experiment.
Time winds and rewinds and plays out, blindly repeating while still drawing always nearer its end. More precisely: my time, my end. Then comes a moment where the record skips, and in a desperate instant one looks frantically for an escape from the groove, before the needle lands in it again.
It's time to switch things up.
I'm going to try an experiment. To write, here, floridly, even purpley, and yet unironically. To write with neither the belief that this inefficient use of words represents eloquence, nor with that self-effacing nod-and-wink that in fact renders self-effacement null; which lays all guilt upon the words themselves, and sends them forward as scapegoat, that I might walk free.
No. I'm going to play this straight, explore the words and the language as a virgin clumsily paws at his first partner. And it's been so long since I really have so delved into it that I might as well be a virgin groom. (And that's if I ever have; perhaps I'm a virgin still, whose fantasies are so vivid that what I remember as coitus was really just masturbation.)
Already I feel the rote phrases starting to close in, jumping to the fore of my mind; the verbal tics that characterise my writing and speech to the point of caricature. "In fact," "Indeed," "To be honest," "To be fair," and others like them, cushioning my statements to mitigate any sin of certainty in my part. And (to be fair), those cushions are not irrational meekness, for I know that I have oten been guilty of... unwarranted arrogance.
So we'll see how this goes. A little a day, if can manage it. We'll see how the words flow, and if the silt ever clears unfiltered.
It's time to switch things up.
I'm going to try an experiment. To write, here, floridly, even purpley, and yet unironically. To write with neither the belief that this inefficient use of words represents eloquence, nor with that self-effacing nod-and-wink that in fact renders self-effacement null; which lays all guilt upon the words themselves, and sends them forward as scapegoat, that I might walk free.
No. I'm going to play this straight, explore the words and the language as a virgin clumsily paws at his first partner. And it's been so long since I really have so delved into it that I might as well be a virgin groom. (And that's if I ever have; perhaps I'm a virgin still, whose fantasies are so vivid that what I remember as coitus was really just masturbation.)
Already I feel the rote phrases starting to close in, jumping to the fore of my mind; the verbal tics that characterise my writing and speech to the point of caricature. "In fact," "Indeed," "To be honest," "To be fair," and others like them, cushioning my statements to mitigate any sin of certainty in my part. And (to be fair), those cushions are not irrational meekness, for I know that I have oten been guilty of... unwarranted arrogance.
So we'll see how this goes. A little a day, if can manage it. We'll see how the words flow, and if the silt ever clears unfiltered.