The Bitch

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Flow. In the.

Got it going, gettin’ it on, gettin’ down! Goddamn! Suddenly stories are oozing from me. Inconsequential memories of small disappointments have become arenas for larger social commentary. Sparse dialogue cuts. Pronouns cut the fat; lack of description allows the stark features to come through.

It’s weird. Like I’m now writing how I produce techno: cut everything sharp, clear. Focus on few elements, repeat, expand. A few months ago I could have NEVER, ever done this. Now it’s almost out of control. Almost. I’ve got a leash on it, and so far that leash has held it back from devouring the rest of my life. But it’s straining..

MINIMALIST, dahling. I feel I’ve gone all minimalist, all black and white and plainness on the table, served up with bread and butter but oh! What hearty bread and butter that is!

It’s wonderful.

Yesterday I began tapping into that well that Ireland left in me. Ireland is desolate, people. And, btw, Dublin is NOT Ireland. If you’ve only been to Dublin you can’t claim you’ve actually been in Ireland. You haven’t. It’s against the law to claim that, a jail-able offense. Ireland proper (everything BUT Dublin and part of the east coast) is about as ass-backwards as you can get. And the people there. Oh. my. god. I can’t say much without offending SOMEONE, so I’ll just add that they’ve given me years of material, years of rot and mould to draw from. No more nice-nice fantasy and funny giggle yourself til you pee stories for me, thank you. What came out (or started to; I have to finish it when I’m done with this post) is yet another double entendre, a simple thing that cloaks a deeper, more sinister message. This is the second piece I’ve done this way without thinking about it. Almost like I’ve gone into some weird state. It’s that back burner thing I talk about; must be on high right now. A scene comes to mind and sits there, like you’ve paused the film. It just sits there for me. Once in a while, that bubbling back pot throws up a word or phrase or sentence attached to the scene, so I know it’s working away. Then I just wake up and decide to sit in front of a black screen and start typing.

And it comes.

It’s a bit freaky. I freak even more when everything goes blank for a moment as a write. I can think of no words, I can’t even pick up my train of thought. But if I don’t panic, and don’t try to force it, it comes back and I type and type away.

I’d say I’m doing auto-writing if I were the kind of person to say that.

….Had to really consider that for a mo. Nope. This is coming from me, just a very deep part of me. A part I couldn’t access before. And I credit that, in part at least, to blogging. Just getting up and typing away no matter what. It’s freed up SOME part of me. I used to feel like a guilty child just typing a curse word; now, as you know, I fuckin’ type whatever the fuck comes through my mother fuckin’ little shitty-arsed brain. 😉

Finding myself in an even stranger place than my writing puts me at the moment. I received a rejection this morning. And I’m happy about it. Well, not happy, but pleased. I wasn’t sure the magazine I’d sent to was the right place for that story. That is EXTREMELY perverse of me. NOT the way I generally react. I usually mope, no matter how much I say I don’t. It usually hurts. I mean, it’s a rejection. A rejection of me, of my words, of my thoughts. Today, I could give a fuck. It’s a tight piece, no rejection can tell me otherwise. I just need to find someone who isn’t such a pussy publisher, someone willing to take that raw meat and display it.

ZOOM.

Oh, I love the confidence this gives me. Suck my balls, mother fuckin’ world.

I do have to watch myself. Okay, settle down little girl. This is not your private circus (well, okay, this blog is but life isn’t). I suppose it’s just as important for me to honestly document my ups as well as my downs..If I went back right now to read my own words during my earlier depression I’d probably laugh a bit at myself. Not a terribly healthy response…It shows a lack of empathy for myself, which makes all the red buttons in my head light up. Stop.

I’m dangerous today.

I promised myself I would try to be better, try not to go out and bite people’s heads off. Today’s a day I could do that. I’m going too fast and if I wrap myself up in my little world where I’m Queen and then REALITY intrudes, well, woe be to he who disturbs the Queen. Okay, good. Good catch, me. I DO need to go out today, and not just for a walk. I need to run errands, which means going into shops and places where lots of people are. So, no getting trapped in my little world. I shouldn’t wear my iPod, then. If I’ve got it, I’ll listen and if I listen, I’ll turn up the volume and if I turn up the volume, I’ll get lost and if I get lost, I’ll become that Queen – Off with their heads! Then again, if I don’t take my iPod the universe will surely arrange for all sorts of unwelcome sound intrusions that will have me gritting my teeth before I’ve even begun my first task. Ugh. What to do, what to do.

Maybe my brother will go. Not fair to ask, of course. He’s got his own problems with crowds and people. And it’s raining like shit again, so whoever goes gets to go and be damp.

Bleh. The world won’t end if I don’t go, or if he doesn’t go. Not that important. Not if it means taking the bitch out, whether or not she’s muzzled. She’s broken out more than once, so I don’t really trust her. I’ll just see if I can lull her to sleep…

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