front row seats
October 19, 2012
I been feelinn like I have front row seats to the story of my life. Like I’m both star and audience to this spectacle. It’s strange, this feeling that I am both in and outside of myself, like part of the process of fusion is in creating a distance from myself.
I’m walkinn on the block, doinn the math, counting up and subtracting then sayinn, Well damn. Things done changed. Nothing is as it was. A year is a long time in Saraland, long enough to remember, short enough to forget.
Last summer it was complete reprieve. Not working for the first time since I was fourteen. First vacation ever, so much as I consider collapse some kind of respite. I remember it clearly, I was trim and tan and gold and blonde. I did nothing. Nothing at all. Except write the novel and dig in dark corners.
I remember how it began. It began with a book. Then another, then another, til I got the hang of it. I got how deep it went, even though I didn’t know at all, but I had just found God so I was good cause I had God, and, wow, if that ain’t the way to live.
Cause it wasn’t no religion. I ain’t down with groupthink or people organized around a common belief. Maybe my beliefs aren’t common. Or not common enough. But I’m too anti-establishment to ever join something I didn’t start myself.
And though last summer was a glorious reprieve, I still remember the nights I did not sleep, that I awoke at two three four am and lay in my bed tossing and turning til I got out to write. Yesterday, I was reading through some of the things I wrote, well, not even reading them, just scrolling through the pages of my life. Every image, every quote, every title, every story—I know exactly who and where I was when these things occurred to me. I know I am willfully obscure often times, because there are things I need to say to myself that can only be read in between the lines. Because, so much as I am naked on the page, I am doing this in public because I may be an exhibitionist, a narcissist, or just oblivious.
Blog and Be Free. Blog it in, Blog it out. Blog for inner peace.
Course, thas me. Not everyone needs this kinda of release in their life. And as I skimmed through the stories of my life I found myself growing more and more uncomfortable with every post. Because I saw how the deeper I went the more fragile I became, and that I, as always, was determined, unstoppable, fatalistic til the end. I went hard and hard went me. And I only made it to January, then, I had to stop. To breathe.