From my notebook, June 27:
Young Men and Fire – going over the same material again and again – ritual – going over the same path, place, steps, again and again
From the time you’ve woken up it’s bright, sunny, 75 degrees, and it’s only going to get darker…the afternoon has an eerie, bad energy – as Aaron, the bar-back said, but in the morning everybody is “pumped, getting ready to go to work…” then, by the afternoon, the energy, the vibe, is “weird.”
The journey and the struggle, hand in hand, unfolding simultaneously, memo and rumination, losing sleep.
[So what’s it all about, Broken Bells, “Citizen”]
A month ago, on a cloudy Thursday, like this one, but less humid, less hot, as I read the stories for the first story conference, I was grateful for the distraction the task of reading gave me – a chance to get away from (the metaphorical) staring at the blank page – but now the anxiety drives and pulls me toward the writing, I feel I can’t write enough, can’t write too much, although I keep seeking clarity, for utter lack of it, and uncertainty remains, still…
No drivers license, no health insurance, no Internet, won’t deal with it, not until I find clarity in the story, although my better judgment tells me lack of clarity there doesn’t justify not dealing with everything else – and finding clarity in the story won’t automagically resolve these essentials.
Gray sky, blank wall, pool, could be California…“Sweetest Perfection,” Depeche Mode, Violator, ‘80s night, “…take your shirt off,” boat builder, wasted, cash, easy, someone’s watching me, the neighbors with a vicious dog who watches me as I walk past the house…I need a drug in me…brings out the thug in me…I want the real thing…Brick wall, facing a wall, out the window, no one there…