I have heard them in my head all night. They're not going to go anywhere until addressed properly.
This is not what I want to end up with tonight. I have to fight back with something concrete. I have to make my house habitable and spread the salt, so that I can inhabit my body and my thoughts can inhabit my head.
“Okay. Fine,” I said, getting out of bed at 02:35 AM, turn on the PC. “I hear ya. ‘Just write’, you say. Fuck ideas. Ain’t about tools or time or titties, you say.”
Not artistic prose or pleasure writes, but still necessary. Necessary to purge.
Not prize winning, but no less valid. Not pouring from heart and soul but also not just shit and snot. (And boy when it pours…)
This too is part of me. Less likable, but still me. Still true.
These are probably recesses of my shadows and nightmares. They're here and they need acknowledgement and attendance. Otherwise they'll fester and infest and poison. And those are things worth watching out for.
My darkness is part of me too. My work is to take care that it doesn’t spread, by confining it in creation, in written language.
