Monday, October 21, 2013
Monday, October 19, 1981 - I can't write
I had the best of intentions yesterday. Get up early in the morning, write, go to work, get lots done. It was hard to wake myself this morning. It was an odd depression. Thoughts about Otto and his writing. Thinking about how he speaks about things. Its always about himself, but it gives one the impression that he's speaking directly to you. Whatever he says stirs some universal feeling related to his current topic of discussion. How can I learn to do the same with myself? Sometimes it works for me. I can manage to do this. But more often than not some dogma, idea, ideology, prejudice, fear, projection, fantasy, paranoia, come out. And most everyone notices this. It becomes easy to dismiss me. To ignore whatever I have to say. This is true of me. Program-like responses from another person turn me off, or, the opposite, turn on a frenzied response. The latter comes from feeling as though I am being attacked. Stuck, stuck, stuck. You-are-a-robot. You-can't-write. You-can't-do-anything.
Have-you-ever-thought-about-computer-programming? Give-up-this-stupid-writing shit. You-can't-do-it.
Hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless. Mope. Mope. Sit here and do nothing. Pretend to be a great writer. Pretend to be writing about the rich world of my inner self. Pretend to write about things of interest to all humanity. Pretend to pretend. Go on you asshole. Keep it up. You've got to do something. Break through the trap you carry around. You aren't just caught in it. You maintain and repair it. You keep it in working order. You plug all possible escape routes. You chase away those who wold break it.
I have just been talking to Simone. Its about what's been bothering me since last night. Do I say anything about it, or hold m tongue. Its bound to eventually come out that somethings there, and not being spoken about. Are you thinking of leaving me, she asks. No, its not anything I'm going to do, or planning. Its just how I see some of the things going on with me and her, and the four of us living here. She has said some half dozen times how the next few days are precarious for her. It was two years ago, just before she left for the last art therapy conference that Michael left her, or rather announced that he would be leaving her. That's not it now, but she is sure to be sensitive to, and disturbed by what I have to say. So, do it now, or wait till later?
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