Non-fiction / My Manifesto
I accept pennies from thoughts all day. I type and chisel the grizzle that grows from the fat of my brain. Always a maelstrom of inventions. Day dreams, nightmares unforeseen peeking out of all corners like saliva drooling from mouth. It’s piece of joy within the remainder of day’s light and upon which I see all that is cured of disease. Including my own mind’s eye. I cure all sight and vision with these thoughts and feel no shame in revealing them here and now. Of course, what is it anyway? It’s all shits and giggles and disappearing bunny rabbits. I’ve come to recapture my mind and give it a morsel of temptation so I can trick it into writing something rapturous.
What if it takes all day? All day and night, I ask again and again. It’s seemingly obvious of course yet, I glance over the answer in hopes that I didn’t actually read what I read. The answer is that if it takes all day, it takes all day. It takes at least five oranges to prepare one decent glass of juice and so if it takes a million words to draw a few into perfect sentences that’s the way it should be. Always write the thoughts even if they are traitorous and go against my belief. The mind should not be underestimated in its power. In fact, the primitive portion of it should be revered.
I’ll travel to every place but it’s the desert in which I find what I’m looking for. The barrenness of it. These little plants that hold water for ‘x’ amount of days (‘x’ means a long time). If there’s no gas stations in sight I’ll keep going til I can fill my tank. I’ll check in for more answers at the next stop and pick up a pack of cigarettes to go. Maybe light the whole place on fire and walk away from it. Send smoke signals to other lost travelers so that we can meet and discuss our precarious situation. I’ve given a lot of thought to this.
The wonder of these pains is not the sensation, it’s what causes these sensations. The pins and needles, the hemorrhaging stomach, the ache in my mind. It’s so many things really. But if it takes all day to engross myself in the emotions of feeling pain then somewhere therein is the fruit of my next tale. I’ll limp across the desert with a gangrenous leg that’s falling apart, steaming with intense fiery pain to get a better picture of where the malady originated. To carry along with me just one small bottle of water, just enough to keep me alive. That is all I need. Even if it takes all day, I’ll get there.
So, it’s with gladness that I write. Fervently writing while sitting here at night as the day rests into oblivion. I mark these bits of thought with excruciating detail. Every dusty lamp. Every rusty doorknob. Every slobbering kiss. It’s my favorite thing to be – the wandering observer. The night is about to become morning and will soon introduce the next day. A day which will repeat the tenacious deeds of a modern writer. Ambiguous at times but complete in my aspirations.
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This is a beautiful, thoughtful and honest piece. I love to read writing like this because it’s so well crafted and appears to be so personal. At the same time similar thinkers will appreciate being able to see themselves in your account, while others will enjoy the brief journey you lay out before them because it is so reflective and well painted. You use words to portray a landscape of images while you talk about your perceptions of writing. Very well written, it was a pleasure to read.
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