Shady's back. Please don't tell a friend.
Lifetimes. It's been that long.
Last night I was... well, alright, I was stoned. But here's what matters about last night - I began to comb through old writing that was stored like strange little acorns all over my room, and my computer (just got it fixed, this is where some of this impulse comes from... does it REALLY work?? Do I still exist intact? Inspect, explore!)But what I was pleased to discover is that I have done some very good writing, and what I was a bit startled by (although, really, why?) is that the majority of my best writing was done as I was entering into, struggling with, and exiting relationships. Why? Because humans are emotional adrenaline junkies, that's why. We see clearest when we doubled over, shitting down our own throats. (To be crude) Unfortunately, what we generally see in moments of that sort of clarity is the extreme details of our own buttholes, but there is a startling clarity that comes from examining the tender parts of our nether-world under such unusual scrutiny, and from that comes the tormented masterpieces of the literary world - the great wordsmiths and nounchitects, marveling over their own anuses. However, I am now instinctively pulled to begin to print these things out, and to weave these powerful tinctures of nether-truth into my less-powerfully-motivated fictional writing. Allie wrote a very good sketch once based on the wild discomfort of a woman (herself, one can safely postulate) being in the doctor's office, about to be probed by the cold instruments of a pap-smear: A common female nightmare, I'm told, but very important to write about because it is, in it's own way, the PEERING INTO THE NETHERWORLD. Not a sexy topic, but still so intimate. It is the one-year anniversary of our "divorce," and I am still moved by her writing these things. That is a good thing - a butthole experience, one could say. Love, when it rolls across the plains of your internal world like summer thunder, makes those moments profound.
Well, that's it. Hi Livejournal!
I have not so many friends on here, and I don't imagine anyone reads these at all. That's a funny thought - an actor performing in mime at the end of an empty ally, casting comitragical shadows on a blank brick wall.
Last night I was... well, alright, I was stoned. But here's what matters about last night - I began to comb through old writing that was stored like strange little acorns all over my room, and my computer (just got it fixed, this is where some of this impulse comes from... does it REALLY work?? Do I still exist intact? Inspect, explore!)But what I was pleased to discover is that I have done some very good writing, and what I was a bit startled by (although, really, why?) is that the majority of my best writing was done as I was entering into, struggling with, and exiting relationships. Why? Because humans are emotional adrenaline junkies, that's why. We see clearest when we doubled over, shitting down our own throats. (To be crude) Unfortunately, what we generally see in moments of that sort of clarity is the extreme details of our own buttholes, but there is a startling clarity that comes from examining the tender parts of our nether-world under such unusual scrutiny, and from that comes the tormented masterpieces of the literary world - the great wordsmiths and nounchitects, marveling over their own anuses. However, I am now instinctively pulled to begin to print these things out, and to weave these powerful tinctures of nether-truth into my less-powerfully-motivated fictional writing. Allie wrote a very good sketch once based on the wild discomfort of a woman (herself, one can safely postulate) being in the doctor's office, about to be probed by the cold instruments of a pap-smear: A common female nightmare, I'm told, but very important to write about because it is, in it's own way, the PEERING INTO THE NETHERWORLD. Not a sexy topic, but still so intimate. It is the one-year anniversary of our "divorce," and I am still moved by her writing these things. That is a good thing - a butthole experience, one could say. Love, when it rolls across the plains of your internal world like summer thunder, makes those moments profound.
Well, that's it. Hi Livejournal!
I have not so many friends on here, and I don't imagine anyone reads these at all. That's a funny thought - an actor performing in mime at the end of an empty ally, casting comitragical shadows on a blank brick wall.