Disengage From Timbre
It’s been six days since I fell through the crack. I’m spiraling down depression way again. The crack has been widening and if I don’t do something about it — San Andreas be thy name — you unholy fucking fissure!
This is a familiar landscape, I’m never too far from my stepping through it, into it, farther and farther down — canyon-like — now in a skirl of whorling minimalist notes, repeated and repeated until I am tranced-out and lost.
Having lost six days now I ask myself: what’s next? Which way do I move? What direction? How do I get out of this, and here I am writing again. Is it fair enough to start like this again? The only option really. How did I get here again? How do I avoid ending up here again?
I don’t think I can adequately answer the latter, but the first question must be asked always because it presupposes awareness of the situation. And here is where I usually make the pivot, because a pivot is required. The only other option isn’t really an option. Is it?
So here I’ll start again, and content myself with starting again. This is an acceptable… No, it’s a GOOD step forward. It had to begin somewhere. Why not right here?
I exist in meaningless patter, in the trifling titter of expense and abuse. I persist in this dominant issue of breaking a standard that I once pretended to. I perform unlimited horrors on my own discernment and troubled world view. I will disengage from timbre and search for a tone so acute it pilfers life itself.
This signifies nothing within nothing.
But Thoreau said: “Write while the heat is in you. The writer who postpones the recording of his thoughts uses an iron which has cooled to burn a hole with.”
And that’s why I persist with this thumb tapping. To use what little heat warms these fingers attached to a tepid body sitting on a cold toilet.
“When I’m writing, darkness is always there. I go where the pain is.”
— Anne Rice