post-it notes from the NO FUTURE: a wannabe writer in the beta: IT'S NOT JUST A PHASE I'M GOING THRU.




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wMonday, January 31, 2005

do the automaton

mood states fascinate me because they’re the prism we see the world thru, the shape of the hollow inside us which channels our beliefs and fills up like a mould, a cast, its limits defining who and what we are. i know that sounds ill-defined and nebulous. but consider:

i’ve never been depressed but i’ve seen it up close and personal in other close friends and know full well how fortunate i am not to be so haunted, hunted, tortured, paralysed, numbed. the angsty passages i paste up on here are no more than the regretful mumblings i’d be burdening a lover with, just a localized vent for some sympathetic stress relief, mere decoration, emotional blackmail.

so today, then, which stained slowly from within, like an ink burst in an envelope. i dunno. i remember being impressed by some of the extraordinary self-analysis in Palinarus’ The Unquiet Grave – seem to remember there was some extended meditation on most stress breaking down into either memories you regret or tasks you dread. with the ICFTHS comeback looming, my to-do list is eating me alive, and i think this weekend at least, it paralysed me.

i coined this axiom i use to provoke myself: ‘you can lead with yr actions or trail in yr emotions’ (very much following on from the James-Lange theory of physiologically-rooted emotional states). sometimes it’s my only way out. i don’t get much satisfaction from hedonism above and beyond isolated episodes – extending an all-night party into a two-day jag does not appeal. the very idea makes me anxious and irritable, profoundly frustrated. if i’m not productive, if i’ve wondered too far from the self-constructed narrative i use to order my life and give it some meaning, for me at least, it feels like i may as well not be here.

my work rate is ok. nothing special, but tolerable. i work every day, before and after my ostensible job, i have decent focus. but my application of the results (and maybe the whole orientation of how i aim my ends) is a problem. is an obstacle. i build the wall that i crash into.

tomorrow morning i send away the play. i do it purely because it is what one does when one gets to this stage of the process. i have no belief in it, zero, no affection, no pride. i have no expectations for it whatsoever. but i will send it. after all, as has been proved conclusively by a decade of trying to make it, it isn’t my opinion that counts.

posted by kicking_k at 2:16 am

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