religious experience? maybe
First of all, please realize that this story is only a metaphor. I’m talking about right brain “mode” (the zone, artist mode), but I happen to like religious language because I like the dramatic. And Star Trek, apparently. In fact, I think that’s appropriate for this story. I don’t think anything about this has any divine implications. It was my brain. And the brain is a hell of a ride, already. Second of all, this is pretty stream of consciousness writing, here. So I'm not expecting it to be good prose.
It’s a true story. It happened a few minutes ago, actually, so I’m still a little groggy. I feel like I’m losing my words or…I lost my words already and am only finding them again. Like…I can read and I can talk, it’s just taking a little effort. My typing is way worse.
Lessee.
It’s no secret that I’ve been suffering from an art block from Hell this year, and I’m desperate to get rid of it. The biggest problem is, however, getting right down to it: turning off logic (left brain mode), start breaking the task down into little squares, and doing it. I’ve always had trouble doing that, It’s like with a saint resisting Satan and his left hand of sin, or Spock resisting his human half. The difference is that I like Satan and I want to embrace being human. I want to tell stories like [Scheherazade]. But God, my Vulcan half, my left brain refuses to let me go, Sure, I’ve drawn stuff before, even some good stuff, but that wasn’t without it taking a LONG TIME, a lot of struggling against the left brain to let me get into right brain mode.
I’m extremely right-handed, by the way. Just saying. I don’t think that indicates much of anything, but that’s an interesting tidbit.
Yeah, yeah. The metaphors before are a little jumbled to the average reader, I imagine. Wouldn’t God be the one that wants you to be artistic? If you’re talking about the traditional god that’s represents Truth, Justice and Moral Rigidity (I know there’s a better word for what I mean, here, but I simply can’t think of it). Right Hand stuff, the left brain, the Vulcans; “goodness”. That’s what people thought of it for a long time, so that’s what I’m talking about here. Just the metaphors, ma’am.
I sound like a Thelema...person. Man, where are my words?!
I’d checked out Betty Edwards’ [Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain] a while ago, but I kind of put it down and didn’t get back to it for a few weeks. It’s not that I disagreed with it or anything (okay, I take a little issue with the implication that there is duality in our brains, but I think that’s me being hypersensitive to the word “duality” being in my textbook. It hasn’t mentioned any ghost in the machine kind of stuff), it’s just…a LONG BOOK. And I got scared of the process, I guess. I don’t want to struggle for ANOTHER five months, I’m fucking tired already! And my summer vacation will be over!” Buyer’s remorse, basically. But I picked it up again last night and, as sillygichan (GillyPerkGoth on DA) said, “You’ve just gotta do it.” So I did. Now I’ve been reading and badly copying line art for a while and I was exhausted. The Vulcans refuse to let me go.
Here’s where it got weird.
I was getting a headache. So I took a nap. Actually, I turned the tail end of a [Skeptics’ Guide to the Universe] episode on my iPod and was planning to just relax, but I was in a napping position. I was so ready to nap. Anyway, I’d only dozed off and that for about fifteen minutes when I got a phone call, snapping me into reality. And it kind of hurt. Then I took my headphones off and took a real nap. In that time, I had this dream:
I was in my computer chair, minding my business. I think I was drawing or something, but I don’t remember. Then the office door opens and there’s this…dude that the door. I can’t say if he was sick or a hobo…but surprisingly, he did look like a mix of Albert Einstein (I think it’s the hair that makes me say that) and Lar deSouza, the artist of The Least I Could Do] (whose visage WAS the inspiration for Harry, the artist hobo. Anyway, he had dirt on his face for some reason…don’t know why that detail would stick. Anyway again, “Hobo dude” sat down and started to talk to me. I don’t remember anything that he said, just that he was calm and nice, as if he were supposed to be there.
On the other hand, I was freaked the fuck out, as I would be in real life. Who the fuck was this? Why is he here? Stuttering and shaking, I told the guy that there were weapons in the house and I wasn’t afraid to use them on him, Totally unconvincing, I was shaking like a leaf. Hobo dude just said alright and that it was cool, and he walked out quietly with me urging him to go. Outside, there were police, I think an ambulance (I think the guy was sick or couldn’t use his legs? I think he was in a wheelchair at some point) and some of my neighbors, They were signing up for a neighborhood watch or something and were going to get me to sign.
At that point, I stated throwing up green beans and spinach. It wasn’t in the form of vomit, though-I was able to pick it out of my mouth whole. By the fistful.
That’s all I remember of that dream. Let me break it down:
I think I tossed Satan out of my house. And I want him back.
Remember, “Satan” is a metaphor for “right brain mode” here.
And anyone can call this bullshit, and that’s fine. It may be. It’s a fun story, though. To me. Though I have no idea why my head hurts. I don't think the brain has pain receptors. Of its own, I mean.
Anyway, there’s an illustration (metaphor? Not really, but it was used that way) I always loved, and that’s Julia’s Sweeney’s “God” in Letting Go of God, her wonderful one-woman show that I can’t get enough of recommending. She imagined him as this man that she’d been married to, As she was getting more into reading up on science and things, he was getting older and quieter, and soon they were empty nesters and he quietly packed his bags and vanished after a long while. She didn’t hate him, she just didn’t need him.
My thoughts are...kind of the opposite of that. Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE logic, I LOVE language. I love my left brain, I love it when a plan comes together, when I get rid of plot holes, when something makes sense and I can make a word for it, Humans do that. But as I do it now, I tire myself out because I’ll only accept help from my right brain after I’ve tired the left out, I feel. And I’m tired of it.
I know I've written things fairly quickly and can get in the zone. So all this is wrong, right? Not necessarily. My writing (fics for RP) tend to be short and not very creative. I get annoyed with it after seven pages, and that isn't very much. I'd rather zip right through it and write the drama, dammit. Pretty righty (left brain) behavior to me...
So Spock, calm the fuck down, okay? You’re cool as you are. Satan, pull up a chair, we’ll talk.
It’s a true story. It happened a few minutes ago, actually, so I’m still a little groggy. I feel like I’m losing my words or…I lost my words already and am only finding them again. Like…I can read and I can talk, it’s just taking a little effort. My typing is way worse.
Lessee.
It’s no secret that I’ve been suffering from an art block from Hell this year, and I’m desperate to get rid of it. The biggest problem is, however, getting right down to it: turning off logic (left brain mode), start breaking the task down into little squares, and doing it. I’ve always had trouble doing that, It’s like with a saint resisting Satan and his left hand of sin, or Spock resisting his human half. The difference is that I like Satan and I want to embrace being human. I want to tell stories like [Scheherazade]. But God, my Vulcan half, my left brain refuses to let me go, Sure, I’ve drawn stuff before, even some good stuff, but that wasn’t without it taking a LONG TIME, a lot of struggling against the left brain to let me get into right brain mode.
I’m extremely right-handed, by the way. Just saying. I don’t think that indicates much of anything, but that’s an interesting tidbit.
Yeah, yeah. The metaphors before are a little jumbled to the average reader, I imagine. Wouldn’t God be the one that wants you to be artistic? If you’re talking about the traditional god that’s represents Truth, Justice and Moral Rigidity (I know there’s a better word for what I mean, here, but I simply can’t think of it). Right Hand stuff, the left brain, the Vulcans; “goodness”. That’s what people thought of it for a long time, so that’s what I’m talking about here. Just the metaphors, ma’am.
I sound like a Thelema...person. Man, where are my words?!
I’d checked out Betty Edwards’ [Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain] a while ago, but I kind of put it down and didn’t get back to it for a few weeks. It’s not that I disagreed with it or anything (okay, I take a little issue with the implication that there is duality in our brains, but I think that’s me being hypersensitive to the word “duality” being in my textbook. It hasn’t mentioned any ghost in the machine kind of stuff), it’s just…a LONG BOOK. And I got scared of the process, I guess. I don’t want to struggle for ANOTHER five months, I’m fucking tired already! And my summer vacation will be over!” Buyer’s remorse, basically. But I picked it up again last night and, as sillygichan (GillyPerkGoth on DA) said, “You’ve just gotta do it.” So I did. Now I’ve been reading and badly copying line art for a while and I was exhausted. The Vulcans refuse to let me go.
Here’s where it got weird.
I was getting a headache. So I took a nap. Actually, I turned the tail end of a [Skeptics’ Guide to the Universe] episode on my iPod and was planning to just relax, but I was in a napping position. I was so ready to nap. Anyway, I’d only dozed off and that for about fifteen minutes when I got a phone call, snapping me into reality. And it kind of hurt. Then I took my headphones off and took a real nap. In that time, I had this dream:
I was in my computer chair, minding my business. I think I was drawing or something, but I don’t remember. Then the office door opens and there’s this…dude that the door. I can’t say if he was sick or a hobo…but surprisingly, he did look like a mix of Albert Einstein (I think it’s the hair that makes me say that) and Lar deSouza, the artist of The Least I Could Do] (whose visage WAS the inspiration for Harry, the artist hobo. Anyway, he had dirt on his face for some reason…don’t know why that detail would stick. Anyway again, “Hobo dude” sat down and started to talk to me. I don’t remember anything that he said, just that he was calm and nice, as if he were supposed to be there.
On the other hand, I was freaked the fuck out, as I would be in real life. Who the fuck was this? Why is he here? Stuttering and shaking, I told the guy that there were weapons in the house and I wasn’t afraid to use them on him, Totally unconvincing, I was shaking like a leaf. Hobo dude just said alright and that it was cool, and he walked out quietly with me urging him to go. Outside, there were police, I think an ambulance (I think the guy was sick or couldn’t use his legs? I think he was in a wheelchair at some point) and some of my neighbors, They were signing up for a neighborhood watch or something and were going to get me to sign.
At that point, I stated throwing up green beans and spinach. It wasn’t in the form of vomit, though-I was able to pick it out of my mouth whole. By the fistful.
That’s all I remember of that dream. Let me break it down:
I think I tossed Satan out of my house. And I want him back.
Remember, “Satan” is a metaphor for “right brain mode” here.
And anyone can call this bullshit, and that’s fine. It may be. It’s a fun story, though. To me. Though I have no idea why my head hurts. I don't think the brain has pain receptors. Of its own, I mean.
Anyway, there’s an illustration (metaphor? Not really, but it was used that way) I always loved, and that’s Julia’s Sweeney’s “God” in Letting Go of God, her wonderful one-woman show that I can’t get enough of recommending. She imagined him as this man that she’d been married to, As she was getting more into reading up on science and things, he was getting older and quieter, and soon they were empty nesters and he quietly packed his bags and vanished after a long while. She didn’t hate him, she just didn’t need him.
My thoughts are...kind of the opposite of that. Kind of. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE logic, I LOVE language. I love my left brain, I love it when a plan comes together, when I get rid of plot holes, when something makes sense and I can make a word for it, Humans do that. But as I do it now, I tire myself out because I’ll only accept help from my right brain after I’ve tired the left out, I feel. And I’m tired of it.
I know I've written things fairly quickly and can get in the zone. So all this is wrong, right? Not necessarily. My writing (fics for RP) tend to be short and not very creative. I get annoyed with it after seven pages, and that isn't very much. I'd rather zip right through it and write the drama, dammit. Pretty righty (left brain) behavior to me...
So Spock, calm the fuck down, okay? You’re cool as you are. Satan, pull up a chair, we’ll talk.