Thursday, January 27, 2005 you're tied to the grill of a truck or a bus or one of those fucking maglev superconducting super trains hurtling away at 200 mph or whatever it is in km/h and your hair is blowing back almost ripping out of your scalp and bugs are hitting the back of your throat and your skin is stretching back and mouth gaping open at impossible ovals like those NASA G force simulator things that the astronauts use and sticks and dirt and rocks are cutting your face gashing your forehead slicing your neck and your eyes are watering and bleeding from their sockets and eventually you get the ropes off and try to smash the front windshield of whatever the hell you're tied to and finally you do but not without slicing open your forearm down to the elbow and spurting and gushing blood everywhere and the second you move towards the open and now broken windshield you are SUCKED inside as though it were some sort of vacuum and violently thrown against the back wall of the cockpit, if that vehicle even has a cockpit, breaking most of your ribs, shattering your left elbow and possibly pulling a hamstring or two. And as you sit there against the wall, spitting out bugs and bark and bile from throwing up in your mouth and bits of teeth that you bit down too hard on and broke and as you're sitting in this pile of your own blood and what’s that, urine? and as bits of fat are coming out of your forearm you start to laugh hysterically because even though you might possibly die from blood loss you managed to cheat death for the time being and you're laughing maniacally anyway showing a sticky smile of bugs and dirt and teeth and mostly blood. You're overwhelmed with joy (you're not quite dead) and sadness (you will most likely lose your arm and will need the blood drained out of your lungs) and so many more emotions that you don't know what to do with it all or how to handle it so you just had to burst out laughing, spraying blood from your broken teeth and tongue you almost bit off. Then you're all cleaned up, that possibly improbable, probably impossible scenario never happened and you are perfectly fit and in fine physical condition and dressed in your best dinner jacket with a lovely lady at your side attending an opera or play or some sort or, an orchestra, but not with as many band members as a real orchestra maybe just like a 12 piece philharmonic type deal that plays the most beautiful rendition of Beethoven's Ode To Joy you have ever heard in your life and being the art-savvy kind of person you are, who attends many galleries and museums and less-than-stellar operas or orchestras featuring mediocre renditions of the classics, including Ode to Joy, you know a good reproduction when you hear one.

And one is like reading Eggers and one is like reading Ballard.

Friday, January 07, 2005

I know that things cannot be forced, that I should not worry about what is to be but only what is. I've stopped thinking about eventualities. Certainties. No longer will I worry about the ending, not everything has to follow the same set of rules we've been taught our whole lives. Introduction, rising action, climax, denouement. Instead of your mind focused on what's to come and final endings , forget what you've learned, live in the present and enjoy each and every minute as it's happening. Nothing is set in stone and we must create our own future as we go along, shape it as we see fit. The future is not friendly, but terribly uncertain and too far beyond our control to actually worry about. We should not be afraid of these uncertainties; not everything was meant to be known immediately. In every drawing, every painting and every piece of creative writing there may be those hidden meanings, constants and linearities but sometimes the meanings are not there for the finding, but are like a secret kept between two lovers, hidden away from the outside world. So much more can be derived from the beautiful words and the clever sentences that all lead to an eventuality not meant for discovery. It may be impossible to discover the hidden secrets, the unknown future, the intended meaning or purpose in anything you see around you and we will never know the ending until it finally happens. The point is not to discover the answers at the end, but just to get there.

Thursday, January 06, 2005

What if how I write is less interesting than reading a newspaper and only presents a fraction of what I really want to say? Each word shrouded in nothing at all and utterly dry and boring to read? What does that say about me? Am I not in touch with my creative side, being unable to conjure parallels between sinking hearts and distant sunsets? What if "we are who we are, people don't change", and I'm destined to write in a scientific, analytical and anything but artistic manner forever? I wish I could get inside your head and find your secret to writing such beautiful passages so that I can amaze you in all the ways that you amaze me. But maybe the secret was not meant to be known and is better left undiscovered. Maybe my thoughts cannot be heard through colourful descriptions or clever metaphors. Words will never be stuck in my throat, everything on my mind will be said in a straight-line fashion with full truthfulness and raw emotion rather than hinting around the actual meaning. If I say it, I mean it more than anything I have ever meant.

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