Monday, August 8, 2016


Now Playing: Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Dull Life

Today, I had zero barriers in place.

Most of my thoughts--relevant or irrelevant to the current situation--go through like eight or ten gates before they can turn audible and reach other people. That's why I abandon so many before I can speak them. Even when I'm writing, I'll often start a sentence and then rewrite it while I'm constructing it. I'll hit backspace midway, start writing another, then think of a third way to write it, begin deleting so I can write the new one, on and on. It's a good writing day when everything flows out at once, but that's very rare. I mostly work through micro-bursts of rewriting.

There wasn't any shields today. From anywhere between one to three hours, all the gates came down, all at once.

In the moment, I tried to write down what it more or less felt like:

"Halfway point to sleep. Surreal and like you're only seeing reality through snapshots and those snapshots are blurry. You remember blips as if they happened a hundred years ago, but right alongside them, the moments that follow are imminent. Half is imminent and the other half is history.*

It's all me. All my erratic, hyperbolic thoughts. But they're all going a million miles per hour and they're already too far away. So I speak them because I can't stop them."

*Not a perfect half. More like . . . a little of the present, a little of the past, a little of the present, but all lied out in one ongoing timeline.

If that makes any sense?? It's like trying to talk about a dream. Sooo nonsensical.

I found one thing the most surprising: it was still me. In that weird state of mind, it was all me and I understood it was me. Without a filter. I kept rambling on with the same pretentious bullshit and repeated phrases; it was basically all I forcefully rewrite a dozen times to mold to something worthwhile.

But for a few hours, there was no energy or need to mold anything. It just came out and I realized I wasn't discovering new things about myself or thinking about issues I could have never dreamed up at any other point in time. No. It was all me--all the thoughts I've always had, all my worries, all the stupid words I choose in trying to communicate thoroughly. Or to create something beautiful (and always failing at that task).

I think I'm supposed to be embarrassed to have been so mentally and emotionally exposed. I'm pretty sure I also cried a little, which is usually mortifying.

But I'm really not embarrassed. As easily annoyed as I can be with myself, I liked the confirmation that I'm not confused or conflicted or still trying to understand myself. I might silence myself on occasion, but it's not because I don't know what to say.

I just don't think I need to share everything yet, though I know that I will. Soon.

(Also, I just finished rewriting a short story that might actually be readable. Little accomplishments spark a little hope in my silly, sentimental heart).

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"Science and science fiction have done a kind of dance over the last century... The scientists make a finding. It inspires science fiction writers to write about it, and a host of young people read the science fiction and are excited, and inspired to become scientists...which they do, which then feeds again into another generation of science fiction and science..."
- Carl Sagan, in his message to future explorers of Mars.