Friday, November 15, 2013

From A Dark Place

Lou Reed. From the Rolling Stone tribute.

"Yeah, why would anybody want to buy despondency?" Reed did his version of a grin - a thin smile of iron conviction. "I thought there was a certain kind of aloneness going on, and I felt I wasn't the only one feeling that."

This is where I am coming from. I am continually being accused of being dark. Why just yesterday an old friend of mine - a guy who spent over 10 years living as an ex-pat in Sweden and has now returned to the states - gave me the standard line.

Your writing is good but it is dark.

I examine Gary's comments closer than others because he is wickedly intelligent. In fact he and I make each other better. We both exhaust all our time dumbing ourselves down to get by. But when we talk, when we write, inspiration flashes, the connection is made and the conversation gets smart. The creativity flows.

So I dig where he is coming from and I respect the opinion.

My head and my heart tell me that life is so very cruel, so very random and that the vast majority of the people on this planet are unhappy.

Excruciatingly unhappy.

I write for catharsis. There is no doubt about that. I came up here brimming with emotion this morning and the monitor would not come on. I unplugged and re-plugged it, I shut down the computer twice and beat up the banister next to the stairs while I fumed.

Finally, thankfully, it came on. Had it not, I would have bashed my head against the wall.

That is how severe is my need for fingers to touch keyboard.

My mind is unafraid to explore the truth - the dark, sinister, unfair truth we call life. My assumption is that in being truthful I will interest genuine humans. That others will connect with what I have to say.

I am not trying to bring anybody down; I am trying to put honesty to paper interpreted through my own experiences in a way that will make others nod their heads and say "Yeah, I feel that way too."

Could I use more humor? Less intensity?

Maybe.

I am not sure that is me.

In the place I am at now, with the thoughts swirling around my head, I am thinking maybe I am not being dark enough, truthful enough about who I am and how life works.

I would rather write what comes naturally than to whore myself out to make others happy. To make myself acceptable to others.

That is the core of what I write and how I write and why I write.

Now if you will excuse me I have an overwhelming urge to get to this book I have been saving. Saving for just the right moment.

"How To Disfigure People Without Leaving An Incriminating Trail."

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