Begins It So And…

I remember this feeling, rare as it once was, where you can actually pinpoint the moment you start to feel high.  It’s a good thing there aren’t too many pills left.  This is the next step in attempting to write on downers.  I haven’t been any sort of high in over two years.  I began to quit things on January 21st, 2010 and haven’t stopped quitting things since.  My life has been a study in reduction.  Eric Snow the Post-Baroque.  Is it a good idea to blllleeeeeahhhhhggggghhh onto the page or should I be concerned with quality?  Well, what’s not to like in an experiment?  I’ve got loud music playing in the background and my fingers are not moving as fast as I’d like them to.  I remember when I was a Lit student in University, I could type as fast as I could think–it was the only way to be able to write what I can only assume was close to a quarter of a million words in four years.  You had to learn how to type.  You can’t get bogged down by the mechanics of writing.  You must practice the physical act of recording written language.  It is muscle memory which allows you to focus more on what you are writing and less on where the fingers go.

So I pop one more and wonder about my sobriety.  I wouldn’t want to undergo this ordeal without the aid of pain medication, but where does the line lie between medication and self-medication?  I’m taking these pills to help the physical pain of recovery from surgery.  Am I enjoying the feeling of opium?  Of course.  Who doesn’t?  It’s not like it’s a terrible feeling to be endured, and it certainly beats a swift kick to the nuts.  I have to be sure though, so I look inside and shine a light around.  Inspect my motives.  Am I running from anything?  Am I trying to stifle any voices?

Sentences to nowhere.  It’s like opening a door and walking down the hallway, feeling along to see if there’s another door you might go through but there isn’t there rarely is and so let’s just reject the idea of a sentence in the first place and write write what there is is and not what there maybe should be because should is just a constricting construct in your mind, designed to find the weakness or counterargument in your plan.

reject, palefaced palms,

music wall wall law lawless 7:13musicsignature

Maybe put this one on the back burner for the time being, come back to it.  I think my writing has suffered, but maybe I’m writing what I think I should have written on downers and I am not truly free but still too conscious to fully let go.  Let’s call ***** ********.  Fuck.  It’s the weekend and nobody’s home.  Poop Scoop Maloop.  Dammit.

This entry was published on September 9, 2012 at 20:46 and is filed under Prose. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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