Category Quick Jump
The Man shuddered and sat up. What time was it? Was it still morning? He went outside and looked at the sky.
He rolled his heavy head around to survey, then went back inside.
The man lived in the basement of an apartment building. It wasn’t the nicest one in Chernobyl because the authorities were more likely to patrol those than this plain, slightly depressing one (in comparison to other Chernobyl apartment buildings - of course, they were all extremely depressing by our standards).
The man had swept up the glass…
I knew this was going to happen: I’m not so sad anymore so I couldn’t write last night. I tried, as you can see, but I became sooooooo slleeeeepppyyyyy.
I actually have a surplus of words that I wrote the first or second night of starting this novel. Technically, I can skip a night. I’ve got an extra page tucked away, but I really, really, really love to feeling of being on top of things. I’d actually prefer to have two to five pages saved up.
Writing a page a night is a pretty big commitment for something that is not my livelihood; however, it did “cure” me. I totally began to look forward to that evening hour or two: me, my headphones (Subflow.net’s downtempo channel - 256kbs streams!) and Word. Kinda automatic writing, but kinda not. I was writing for freedom and self-expression, not necessarily therapy. I mean, I get the therapeutic aspect but I’ve been through enough therapy to feel that yes, I am completely correct when I say “I AM Sad, Lonely, Lost and Confused.” It either IS in my genes or WAS bred into me, or most likely, WAS a combination. For example, if it IS biological, how could my parents have done anything other than pass it on? How could they have shown me any other way of BEING?
The irony is that once I accept this WAY OF BEING, it goes away. It’s like peripheral vision: by it’s nature, you cannot look directly at it. Is that what an IDENTITY is? Is that why BRANDING, in particular, CORPORATE BRANDING, bothers me so much? It’s like the MBA’s are trying to erase real identity by manufacturing it with formulas, language and pictures, not realizing that identity, by its very nature, cannot be made, even with art. It’s like they don’t realize that an identity is something we can work at: ie. a mother will try to raise her child to create the best person he or she can be, but that there is the child’s personality – a great part of which also comes from the dad, biologically – the people and other children he or she meets, the landscape (city or country, for example), society and even natural or manmade disasters that can have a huge effect on a child’s character. And if you try to force something to have certain character or identity traits when those are not there naturally, or the environment is not conducive to those traits, you get… Identity Chernobyl? A deadly, blackhole of a person or entity that then needs to be left alone for hundreds of years, while forces much bigger than you or me cradle it, swathe it in fungi and let it do the deep, unseen work of processing?
Links of Fondness :
Machine Biscuits :