Sleeping pill beauty, concentric circular mind, faraway places like that thousand year stare after witnessing the brutal execution of an idea you loved. Replaced by science so brash. How great, though, hey hey, to enter my old mind state of inevitable creation and beautiful prose, an organization of mind that I have ultimately failed to accomplished here in Seattle. A perfect stability between the work of the day and the rearranged nightmarish writing at the end of it.
Sometimes it would be first thing in the morning mind awakening exercise where the words do not come so rationally, as I may be still partial to the pull of my dreams. These mornings of livid and fierce quick typing are generally sloppy and incongruous. Shifting perspectives and issues like those fairy tale fancies of my night eyes.
20 minutes, yes. I must return to my regiment even if it reads as shit the words need to spill out with a passion once again.
Or after the day is extinguished. A fiery ranting retrospective, seated on the majestic throne of hindsight... all of those jumbled up events and actions... subconscious and conscious observations both. all scattered about into a document, concise and clear cut with poetic flourishes.
Where did these writings go? The passion?
Maybe I've emotionally flattened. The literary writing perhaps has strained my ability to reach a full state of 'departure' through these kinds of word tornadoes.
I need to fill my cup with emotions and get back to writing down poetic thoughts no matter how or why, or what. The people I've met. The classrooms. Professors. Conversations. Walking through campus. It is all already a beautiful clusterfuck swirling beneath my consciousness like the buried percentage of a glacier, ready for extraction through close knit and well framed writing.
Some developed style of observational humor. A rational mind turned inside out so as to look at itself, irrationally. The skin peeled back so the veins and pulsing vital organs can be seen in full glorious view, while remaining alive and outside of tragic pain.
Write. One day a great idea will consume you. Prepare for that day.
