The Real Impacts of Writing
August 22, 2007
I dumped a bottle of water over my head so that Mira would be inspired to write a poem. This is what came out:
After a year planning, It all came around to the first, and I took your advice.
And look at us now.
Digging our own graves side by side.
But we get paid for this?
You live in hotels, and I guess I do too.
Little plastic key cards, matted spotty beige carpets, burnt bagels, the juice machine.
The fire alarm goes off.
I think that she should write more poems. Maybe I should just keep dumping more bottles of water over my head.
Now she is massaging me and it hurts. “Honey, you have a guy in there,” she says. “You have a guy right there too,” as she continues to crush the knots in my back.
Maybe it is from a hard day of work? “Naw,” chuckle, chuckle.
It is from sitting at this damn computer writing these friggin blog post every night. Haha.
I got chewed up and spit out from a post that I recently made entitled “The Lonely Road.” No, not from Mira, but from my best friend Erik.
“What, you don’t like travelling with me?”
“No, I was just writing of a particular mental state, I did not mean you personally.”
He then proceeded to mock me and satirically throw my written words back upon me in a far more humorous way than I originally meant for them to be taken.
No, Erik, I do not mind when our conversation interrupts my meditative foot thumpings. I welcome your company. Stubbs, the same goes for you.
I just write what I feel in the moment. I make no pretense that I will feel the same a day from now as I do today, nor do I pretend that yesterday’s thoughts will add up to today’s. Tomorrow is a new day, you know. Writing is for the moment- it is the moment. I mean nothing permanent by anything that I write. But I do sometimes deserve to be berated, so call me out. Yes friend, I welcome blunt honesty.