I've been contemplating my life thus far. In those times when the sky has darkened and the sun has bereft me of warmth, I get depressed. When I get this way one of two things generally happen: 1) I get really focused on something that I perceive I have failed at or 2)I go to sleep. The latter cures the former pretty easily. However, when the former is particularly glaring, realistically or realistically, I tend to stay awake with the specific desire to wallow, sulk and/or dwell upon this/these failures.
Tonight became such a night of the former, but it was markedly different. There's nothing that I feel bad about that I can't laugh at when my mind attempts to make it darker than it is. So... I got nothing to dwell on. It's a weird feeling, both liberating and upsetting. It upsets that part of me , as Beloiters know, wants to be like Burdick in his childish sulking (sans alcohol as I'm quite aware how bad alcohol is when alone and depressed). I should be happy! and less contemplative, I think. The other part is like "wha...?" what do I do when I have nothing negative to propell me to write something or make something or do something.
Negativity often fuels my creative drive - at least my poetry. Today while I was driving home from work I was hit with that "I need to write something" vibe that has such a distinct charachter, that it is becoming a presence in my life. This is the Presence that many authors describe, I think, when they say that teir characters talk to them. This has never happened before. This Person before me has no name, that I have found yet, and only exists in shadow. This in particular amuses.
See, I think that creativity is something different to everybody. To some an emotional force, to others whiney Vampires (these people I feel especially sorry for :)). But these others are fiction writers, not poets - as I classify myself most of the time. Having a poetic force take shape is especially new, muselike. But each form these People take is dependent upon how the writer views their work, style, prose, etc. In this instance mine is looking like a trench-coated spy with midnight fedora. His (I think) white eyes are piercing from a cowl of utterblack. That's it. He keeps looking at me from behind a landscape I don't recognize. I can't hear him at the moment, but just acknowledging him gives him strength. If he has vampire fangs, I'm going to commit myself. :)
So, apparently my creative style is reclusive, somewhat fiendish and obscure even to me. This is precisely how lady_fox would describe my poetry. THis is also how I've come to describe it, especially that which I enjoy the most. I wonder if this new presence, that attacked me in the car, is like a culmination of my writing. I mean, it has come so far in the last few months - further than four years of college - maybe this is to be my gift. Does this work with all writers? When they come into their own, they get their familiar (sorry for the game term, but it fits)?
It's certainly a magical being, who ever the fuck you want to define magical. For me, magical becomes as it is for me spiritual. Magic (no fuckin' "k" which I almost wrote) is Jung's universal consciousness. It is the theta wave, the god particle, the bind of the quarks that runs through everything. The Lakotak call it Tunkasila. Grandfather. Though I have stolen the concept, I reject the translation. This Stuff is more a friend than an overseer. I don't see a Grandfather encouraging me to write sexual odes to William Gibson or Dr. Manhattan (and if you do, you shouldn't ;)).
My Grandfather never skulked in the shadows, taunting me with bits of phrase and distorted images.
So that's where I am now. I have something that is watching me and I'm not really sure how to talk with him. I figure I'll stay the course, be creative when I can and feel the undercurrents of Tunkasila's breath. This is why I am unable to draw a depression about myself. Everything is going really well. That laughable thing I mentioned earlier? I watch too much TV. Yeah, I tried ot get myself depressed over that. Ridiculous, ne? I read when I want to and am creative multiple times a week. Just lazy. Even laziness is a bad excuse. I've been DDRing constantly . The new diet has left me energized plus I've lost 8 pounds already. I'm finally back below 200. lady_fox is eyeing me in that way again. Partially because I've lost the weight, as has she, but because I carry myself radically different when I'm confident in my appearance. Walking from the movie theater to the front door I was checked out no less than 5 times last Friday.
Too much TV? Yeah. I'm still reading. Still creative. Not as much as I'd prefer, but it'll come. Especially when interesting strangers appear.
Enoch is panting.