padre, no me, abandonas

Been writing tonight, listening to some music, receiving text messages and phone calls about the evening and its happenings. Somehow in this head of mine I imagine this weird breaking down and then me sifting through the pieces and putting stuff back together again in a different way. Not new things, just different, changed. And not anything noticeable I think. Perception can be cemented pretty hard, and once its set it stays pretty solid.

And the way I look at it, sadly, is like cut-up. As much as it pains me to look at a process by an author I don’t care much for. I guess it has validity. Mostly because its taking these complex structures and works, stuff that has been painstakingly put together, and making it different. Essentially it’s the same fucking thing. Not a different word in the mix, but look, it means something completely different. And that’s important. I don’t know why its important, I wish I could explain why, but I don’t know if I’m skilled enough for anything beyond that. I guess I appreciate and recognize it.

So that’s sort of how I feel. And all there is is snow to look out at and the waves of heat that come off my radiator and pass above the frozen window and up towards my vent and outside.

As for moments. Well I think moments are important. And essentially, I think it’d be neat to take every moment I ever had in my life, move them around as a separate entity, and see what comes out different. Again, the same thought as above. But just the timing and the sequence, what builds on what, and how it all builds to form the present is important. And I want to look at everything I am and say, wow, that makes sense. But I don’t know if that is really possible. I don’t think its really possible to take yourself all at once, because we sort of think in a linear fashion, and memory isn’t perfect, and always malleable when needed. So stuff may not be as it was, and that sort of corruption ruins the idea, so I guess it just sits as a neat idea and that’s about it.

Pleased with re-writing something I worked on a while ago. Though, the story seems very different, especially since everyone lacks a name at this point, and when I made so much emphasis in the beginning with all these symbolic names. I think I lost some of the point, and now I look at it and maybe it’s just less confusing, or subtler. I hope the work is simpler, elegant, but flows and reads like a story, not like this thing that seems convoluted and contrived. And a lot more can be gleaned from it. I’d rather have a wire construction and let the reader fill in the rest of the framework, based on what they see, rather than try and force my hand with everything that I want. That flexibility seems important in writing. Especially in writing fiction. And that kind of works its way into how the reader, every single one of them, imagines the character, relates to what they think and say. All the pain they feel, all the mediocrity they live in. Without that, its just empty, and I guess I just want to say to myself, say to myself that decided this over a year ago. Write a lot more about the stuff you feel rather than what you think will sound good. Because that’s the important thing. Relating to stuff, that’s where the importance of what you are doing comes into play. Without that, it’s fruitless. It’s like painting a painting because it would look good on your wall. That’s dumb. That’s not the point. It kills expression, and expression is the point.


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ender will save us all