September 4th, 2004

lucifer/ death

Ultimate Dishonor.

When I can't write, I get twitchy. I feel like my brain is spinning too fast in my head, and soon it'll cause me to explode, as though I were a femme-bot. I start reading fandoms for things I'm not even terribly interested in, hoping for something to jump start my brain.

I pace. I snap. I whine. I am generally a melodramatic brat, which is probably no fun for the people around me as it leads to me whining about how my ancestors are wailing and gnashing their teeth and saying that I am bringing ultimate dishonor down upon the family name. (I don't know how I get to these places in my head, I just often do.)

And more than anything else, I stare at the blinking cursor in word. I stare at it so long that it seems like it's sending me morse code messages -- probably things like 'BUY MORE BROCCOLI' and 'DRINK OVALTINE'. (I have been feeling the cravings for broccoli lately...yummy yummy yummy.)

I go crazy, like an addict, looking to get a fix. It's actually almost troubling, how much of a visceral reaction I have to not being able to write. I'm virtually incapable of being good humored about it, because the words are there, they're under my skin, they're coiling around me, and through me, and there are stories whispering in my ears, and God how I love telling them.

This is my Midnight Disease, as Michael Chabon would call it. Some nights, I just stay up and stare into the darkness, and I can see people and places and things, and words fitting neatly together into sentences that I pile into paragraphs.

Story telling is like building for me. I work my way up from the foundation, and when I watch myself write, when I watch the story just happen on paper, it's as though I'm watching construction.

It's a physical experience for me. Writing isn't cerebral and abstract, it's very hands on. I wade into myself, and I try to catch something pull back out. It's something I do with my whole self, and so when I can't do it -- it's like a dolphin not swimming, or a German shepherd not having a task to complete. (Do you know they'll get really depressed if they don't have things to do every day? Yeah, I just found that out. Weird, huh?)

But this is why I call myself a writer. Because this is my compulsion. This is what love and I feel a lot of the time like this is what I was meant to do, and maybe not in some ridiculous cosmic 'This is what I was born for' kind of way, just -- my life, and my chemistry have turned me into someone who needs to be able to tell stories.

In a few days, I'll probably be through the block. I'm like that; I go through slow times that drive me utterly batshit crazy (and probably lyra_sena crazy, too, because she has to deal with me) and then I burst back into productivity.

Until then, I'm going to try not to bring ultimate dishonor on my family. I'm not sure how I'll go about doing that, but I figure it's a pretty good plan, all told. *grins*
  • Current Music
    Cannonball - Damien Rice
ew bitch - crazyperfume

Rage Day.

Today I am one with the Rage. The Rage and I have merged. I'm surprised I'm not walking around jerkily with red eyes trying to kill people. I may in fact be one of the Infected.

I want to destroy Tokyo. I want to feel buildings collapse beneath my feet. I want to scream and scream and throw things.

I say, we should make today The Day of Rage. Get in touch with your inner angry. Break a pencil. Do something non-constructive. Pout. Flop around sullenly.

Or, be like me, and pick something random and stupid to get entirely too worked up over and then rant about it all day long. My rant of choice at the moment is the fact that I was too fucking stupid to buy the right kind of tape to put up things on my wall. It makes the pictures bunch and look weird and I hate it. Fucking tape! It fucking blows! I want to light it on fire! Aaaaaaah!

This post brought to you by how much the past few weeks have sucked.
  • Current Music
    Miss You - The Rolling Stones