fire
This might get a little weird but it's been that kind of a day so stick with it. I had a day off work and didn't want to stay in bed any longer but couldn't get writing the first semester essay which is still a few puddles of words and half an idea and only a week left. There's been a lot of motion except in work which is horrible, having a job is killing me, it stops everything moving and makes you want to sleep. Luckily a friend rang, they were going to work, so it seemed like a good time to get up and a good time to create, and it was also a good time to go outside. I got my camera and went out with the intention of taking a bunch of photos on the hoof - don't pause or stop, don't compose, just keep walking, point the camera and take the photos. It hadn't been used in a while so the batteries were flat and I had buy some new ones. It could have sunk the day but like you see earlier there's been a lot of motion so the energy was easy to keep going. Even better my iPod had a full battery and a shitload of recently downloaded early Dylan - Blonde on Blonde, Bringin it All Back Home, Freewheelin - which is all movement, vibration, city - at least a way to keep buzzing until I bought some new batteries.
Couldn't tell you what or where the first photo is, but since it's only one of 251 in about two hours it's not all that surprising. The point is it doesn't really matter anyway. The point was just the idea and whatever came out from that. Half the photos are shit but again it doesn't matter I think I was trying to feed something into my writing, an unconciousness a lack of control, a way to stop being who you are. But kind of the dispiriting thing is you can't help being who you are - the less you play the thing that you are the more you become it - although maybe you're better at being yourself then, and a better artist. You should never be able to recognise what you've done. The trouble with the next two photos is I know exactly where they came from and pretty much what I was thinking at the time. Couldn't tell you what songs were playing though - maybe Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands for the first one, who knows.
It was a warm day anyway and moving like that just makes you warmer so the whole thing was a little like getting high, speeding, no sense of reality. Your brain's overheated, you're moving, you're listening to music, you're shooting off photos, you're thinking about where to go next, you haven't got time to think about who you are, what you want or don't want. It's just a focus on what you're doing, and maybe the one or two other things that are nagging you right now - writing some notes, turning through images, words, tunes, random shit. Once, once out of a thousand times it was "Only connect", recently it's been Dylan, "Ghost electricity howls in the bones of her face", I don't know why the fuck that is - doesn't seem to be any reason. It's better without reasons. Reasons are like shoes for the mind - they're a useful protection against getting ripped up by the road - but they're oppressive, they confine you. They have a use, but if you wear them all the time you'll crush and lose all your best ideas - reasons come later.
Recently paradox and bullshit's been interesting me as a writer, it's another form of unconsciousness, you don't need to know what anything means, other people can come up with that.
I wanted to be a mystery so you didn't understand my eyes.
I was never strong enough to take temptation.
Changed so much without meaning to I didn't even notice.
When I was older I wanted to be sick but now I'm young I don't want that responsibility.
You had to sell your soul to yourself to become yourself, but remember it's a deal you can't undo.
I always thought comfort was the enemy, it distracts you, you can't pay attention. Except it was just that I thought there was only one kind of attention, snatched and bright. If I ever thought about sustained attention it was grabbing bits here and there and a lot of slack in between. Still don't really believe you can concentrate for minutes or hours.
You have this thing makes people feel insecure - you think you're smarter than you are.
It's hard to be yourself when you only know what you're not and you've changed so much you might even be that tomorrow.
I have to empty myself before I start talking.
It's a compulsion. You have to make. Pressure in your eye, trembling in your gut. You can't lay it with food or sex or getting high.
Close to home and the weird thought happens. It's a compulsion. You have to make. Pressure in your eye, trembling in your gut. You can't lay it with food or sex or getting high. But it's not quite that, and for an atheist it's really fucking weird: I had this vision of my stomach burning and that however much I tried to talk it out through my mouth or put it out with my hands I couldn't. And then I realised for the first time that creativity really isn't something I can control, it's far bigger than me, and it's accessible by other people. I knew it came from somewhere else, and I knew it comes when it comes, but I thought I had a measure of skill at accessing it and at controlling it. Then suddenly I realised it's more like the holy ghost - it's like a column of flame that comes through you and you never know when and all you can do is speak it and sing it or write it or whatever it takes to stop your brain and your tongue and your hands from burning.
Couldn't tell you what or where the first photo is, but since it's only one of 251 in about two hours it's not all that surprising. The point is it doesn't really matter anyway. The point was just the idea and whatever came out from that. Half the photos are shit but again it doesn't matter I think I was trying to feed something into my writing, an unconciousness a lack of control, a way to stop being who you are. But kind of the dispiriting thing is you can't help being who you are - the less you play the thing that you are the more you become it - although maybe you're better at being yourself then, and a better artist. You should never be able to recognise what you've done. The trouble with the next two photos is I know exactly where they came from and pretty much what I was thinking at the time. Couldn't tell you what songs were playing though - maybe Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands for the first one, who knows.
It was a warm day anyway and moving like that just makes you warmer so the whole thing was a little like getting high, speeding, no sense of reality. Your brain's overheated, you're moving, you're listening to music, you're shooting off photos, you're thinking about where to go next, you haven't got time to think about who you are, what you want or don't want. It's just a focus on what you're doing, and maybe the one or two other things that are nagging you right now - writing some notes, turning through images, words, tunes, random shit. Once, once out of a thousand times it was "Only connect", recently it's been Dylan, "Ghost electricity howls in the bones of her face", I don't know why the fuck that is - doesn't seem to be any reason. It's better without reasons. Reasons are like shoes for the mind - they're a useful protection against getting ripped up by the road - but they're oppressive, they confine you. They have a use, but if you wear them all the time you'll crush and lose all your best ideas - reasons come later.
Recently paradox and bullshit's been interesting me as a writer, it's another form of unconsciousness, you don't need to know what anything means, other people can come up with that.
I wanted to be a mystery so you didn't understand my eyes.
I was never strong enough to take temptation.
Changed so much without meaning to I didn't even notice.
When I was older I wanted to be sick but now I'm young I don't want that responsibility.
You had to sell your soul to yourself to become yourself, but remember it's a deal you can't undo.
I always thought comfort was the enemy, it distracts you, you can't pay attention. Except it was just that I thought there was only one kind of attention, snatched and bright. If I ever thought about sustained attention it was grabbing bits here and there and a lot of slack in between. Still don't really believe you can concentrate for minutes or hours.
You have this thing makes people feel insecure - you think you're smarter than you are.
It's hard to be yourself when you only know what you're not and you've changed so much you might even be that tomorrow.
I have to empty myself before I start talking.
It's a compulsion. You have to make. Pressure in your eye, trembling in your gut. You can't lay it with food or sex or getting high.
Close to home and the weird thought happens. It's a compulsion. You have to make. Pressure in your eye, trembling in your gut. You can't lay it with food or sex or getting high. But it's not quite that, and for an atheist it's really fucking weird: I had this vision of my stomach burning and that however much I tried to talk it out through my mouth or put it out with my hands I couldn't. And then I realised for the first time that creativity really isn't something I can control, it's far bigger than me, and it's accessible by other people. I knew it came from somewhere else, and I knew it comes when it comes, but I thought I had a measure of skill at accessing it and at controlling it. Then suddenly I realised it's more like the holy ghost - it's like a column of flame that comes through you and you never know when and all you can do is speak it and sing it or write it or whatever it takes to stop your brain and your tongue and your hands from burning.
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