La Nebbia della Mente
Long. empty. fucking. nights. No problem in the day, in the sun. But at night, nothing but longing nostalgia. Give me back my beautiful prison. The turba mentale daydreams, glasses of wine, sunset upon sunset. Take me back to San Servolo. Leave me with the cats. Nothing made sense on San Servolo, and it was gorgeous. In Durham, the insanity is dirty and unbearable. To hell with the lazy nonsense, confusion, sheer idiocy. Sleep full of San Servolian dreams, fantastic and serene. Days full of slow slow madness.
What's great is, I could be over this in a minute. Perhaps even a heartbeat. It wouldn't be hard. I'm trying to exacerbate these feelings on purpose. Got to whip emotions to a frenzy, a frothy maelstrom mix, and mine it for all it's worth, just steal and steal and steal for my writing. Who knows when I'll be capable of coming close to feeling strong emotions again? Gotta take what you can get and stretch it to the breaking point. Got to get something from it. Got to make even this handful of bizarre spare change of emotion worth it.
I think I can use this as fuel for a new story, provided I can stoke the growing poison, the changing tides, the hyperboles, and keep them in a pressurized container, a space-pen of emotion capable of writing at any angle in all temperatures. The basic idea, see, is that gods ask too much of mortals, and mortals like to trick the gods. I've got the motivations of the greedy gods pinned down, but I'm still trying to figure out the motivations of a mortal who would seduce one of that celestial number but have a change of mind halfway through, not giving up the chase, no, but fooling the supernatural into unrequited love. I've got to find this motivation without villainizing the mortal, which is difficult. Maybe I should just start writing, and see what comes out. 'Course, last time I really truly did that, we ended up with that depressing bloodbath known as "Fairytale Endings." Gah, remember that? Weren't those just the days?
Eh, whatever. I should be working on my thesis.
What's great is, I could be over this in a minute. Perhaps even a heartbeat. It wouldn't be hard. I'm trying to exacerbate these feelings on purpose. Got to whip emotions to a frenzy, a frothy maelstrom mix, and mine it for all it's worth, just steal and steal and steal for my writing. Who knows when I'll be capable of coming close to feeling strong emotions again? Gotta take what you can get and stretch it to the breaking point. Got to get something from it. Got to make even this handful of bizarre spare change of emotion worth it.
I think I can use this as fuel for a new story, provided I can stoke the growing poison, the changing tides, the hyperboles, and keep them in a pressurized container, a space-pen of emotion capable of writing at any angle in all temperatures. The basic idea, see, is that gods ask too much of mortals, and mortals like to trick the gods. I've got the motivations of the greedy gods pinned down, but I'm still trying to figure out the motivations of a mortal who would seduce one of that celestial number but have a change of mind halfway through, not giving up the chase, no, but fooling the supernatural into unrequited love. I've got to find this motivation without villainizing the mortal, which is difficult. Maybe I should just start writing, and see what comes out. 'Course, last time I really truly did that, we ended up with that depressing bloodbath known as "Fairytale Endings." Gah, remember that? Weren't those just the days?
Eh, whatever. I should be working on my thesis.