It only takes one spark

Sometimes the words I want to put down feel just too damn heavy to even let out there... but I know if they're that bad, they better get out right now, ya know? There's no sense in having pent-up badness filled inside you. A lot of times it feels like I should just keep my mouth shut and just move on, but I don't, I speak, or I write, and usually, it defeats that worry and trepidation.

I just finished reading Robert T. Bakker's masterpiece novel, Raptor Red, and I gotta say, it feels like the times I've finished reading it in the past as a boy... it feels good, like I've just been enriched and brought down to a more basic, fundamental level.

I've also just hit the bong, so that might be contributing to the- dare I say?- cautious movements of my fingers across the keyboard.

It's as if I'm afraid of what I might produce should I let my creativity flow... what deep-seeded memories root themselves in this unwanted behaviour, that I should feel myself trembling at the thought of... what?

A famous cat- and I suppose he must be famous to have had his voice heard by me- once said that a writer should be wary of starting too many of his or her paragraphs with the letter I. It reveals a focus, a heavy-centeredness of the writer that repels the reader. I'm always wary of that whenever I'm typing now, but I don't ever seem to pick it up when I read. Which leads me to wonder, do I just not read books written by self-absorbed loonies or are they just tuned into the same trick I am?

A lot of times writing can seem like it's just pushing out into the darkness, not knowing what you'll find. But when you finally flip the lightswitch you look back and just marvel at all the pitfalls and mouse traps you've somehow lucked out of hitting this time.

But you can't be led to a halt by what you see, you've got to just move on into the next dark room, lighting up more and more of this dusty old mansion as you proceed.

Maybe I just watched too much Scooby Doo! I don't know! But people tell me I look like Shaggy, and I can do a spot-on impression of him, too.

I've come to realize I'll always feel a slight disconnect from the people around me. That's what makes them, them, and me- you know.

The scattered shortness of my paragraphs reveals the intrinsic blindness with which I write today. I'm just shooting shit out in the open like it's nobody's business. But something is pressing me, pressing me to leave, right now. Something is telling me to go to the store and get some more drenk. And at the same time, that struggle finds confliction, another command directing me to do the opposite. To stay here and ride this one out. 

And so I know this conflict is something that is going on inside of me; for if it were an outward motion, a true struggle, I would find my opponent coming not from any rationalization or deduction, but from straight in front of me, in this crazy world we all live in. This conflict is a choice, and a far-reaching choice, indeed.

For if I leave now and get the syrupy swill I so-slavishly seek, will I not leave tomorrow to get that same bottle, as I have done yesterday, and the day before, for months- years- hitherto? Do I crave the escape from logic's crushing weight that much? That I would add yet another craven foot to this mile-long fence of insanity..?

My mind tells me to embrace the escape fully, with the very enthusiasm with which I lack in the more rational choice.

Ahh, the ugly path is revealed now. No manner of enthusiasm or bursting drive could find me on that shadowed approach, now.

Whoah-ho, so all along my ugliness was so stunningly apparent... Ahh, well. Such a sin would not suppress the flapping of my night-craving wings, this night. I have to quote one of my poems from a few years ago that still makes itself relevant to this day:

I'm chasing a dream I've already found

Seeking a sun that's already risen...

What words could I seek now-

What comforts could it be that I'm missing?

Where do I go now, now that I am here?

This is what I wanted... how perfectly clear...

Alright, I'm gonna go get some ice cream before I lose my marbles.

Now, the question here is, am I gonna go to the store and get more chemical persuasion to further pigment these already murky convolutions?

The eternal party-monster in me says FUCK YEAH DUDE! BETTER TO BURN OUT THAN FADE AWAY!

And though the logic in it all seems totally wrong and I get that feeling that I may end up regretting it later, I am so craving that total over-the-edge enthusiasm that I honestly think I'm just gonna say 'fuck it' and dive right in~!

...Oh man, yeah, I'm a goner. I'll just tell my lady where I'm going and get these wheels rolling... Just an initial investment, just one spark, to get this flame spread wicked~