Posts Tagged ‘automatic writing’

BOOKS ARE SPEAKING TO THEM because isn’t that what every reader wants when they read anyway, to be touched by another it’s a kind of loneliness and a kind of searching at the same time.

I’m going dizzy so I stopeed and now it’s time to stop reading which I’m getting better at doing very quickly these are the ferret-quick snatched moments of life, not the work that I do or the films that I see or the products that I buy that fail to keep me beautiful inside I am an aggressive angry bullshit heaving lunatic and this is only me just getting started at the thought of getting warmed up and getting warmer.

I understood how books speak to people or people speak to themselves and read themselves through reading something the right sentence at the right time.


Coughing up blood in a hospital room is not the way you’ll go out. So if that ever happens, kid. You remember that. This is not the way you go out.

How will you go out and is it as close as you fear? It’s coming to everyone whether you want it to or not. We’re all going home in an ambulance.

So you may as well assume it’s coming and act accordingly. But also assume that you’ve got just enough time to get everything done.

In the words of Viktor Frankl, “Live as if you were living already for the second time and as if you had acted the first time as wrongly as you are about to act now!”

You still have the opportunity to make it right.

And, you know what? To the people who say, “What you need to do is blah blah blah.”

Let your internal default response be, “What you need to do is shut the fuck up and mind your own business because what puts you in a position to judge from on-high when you’ve done nothing with your life and are just bitter about it?”

And to the complainers: “Fuck you. Fuck me too, but life is hard for everyone. So fuck off.”

Because you don’t get to be one thing or the other. You are what you are.

And what does life matter anyway? And where are the characters you expect to see. And what to do with life and what to do with death and what to do now and what to do next. And what did you do to get here. And what do you need to do to get where you’re going. What did you do last time round and what will you do different this time instead?

Every day is a do-over — it just gets harder on a daily-basis. But it’s still your life. Do what everyone else does and you’ll only have that to show for it. Nothing but the same old shit.

Allen Ginsberg got the insight from his shrink that the only thing he wanted to do was write, so do that. And he went crazy and it cost him his life but he did it and that was the right thing for him to do. He endured a ton of shit before being recognised. But he recognised himself first and acted accordingly.

According to David Burner’s ‘Making Peace with the Sixties’ Allen Ginsberg saw a psychiatrist in San Francisco, called Philip Hicks, who asked him what he wanted to do with his life. Ginsberg recalled his response:

“Doctor, I don’t think you’re going to find this very healthy and clear, but I really would like to stop working forever — never work again, never do anything like the kind of work I’m doing now — and do nothing but write poetry and have leisure to spend the day outdoors and go to museums and see friends. And I’d like to keep living with someone — maybe even a man — and explore relationships that way. And cultivate my perceptions, cultivate the visionary thing in me. Just a literary and quiet city-hermit existence. Then he said “Well, why don’t you?” I asked him what the American Psychoanalytic Association would say about that, and he said… if that is what you really feel would please you, what in the world is stopping you from doing it?

What’s the equivalent of this for you? Go do that.

And that’s where you’re going. To the road again. Back to the road where you must decide but your mind is already made up. There is no decision.

Do you want to live this life you can’t stand to live, just so you can go on pretending to be someone else, wanting the same old shit as everyone else?

Do you want to die? Maybe you’re already dead. You ran out of time before you were born. But you’ll never know. And just-in-time is no time at all.

Get on the road early or late but get on the road. Hit the fucking road.

Do you want to maybe just do the one thing that you came here to do? Live your life.

Do the thing you want to do every day. Drop the rest. Move to a quiet place and let the world disown you. Fuck the scrapheap and fuck all your so-called friends. All the so-called people in your life who think they know better than you how to live your one life.

Family and friends who all want to know what you’re doing, what job you have, what you want to be. But don’t actually hear that you want to be a writer, you just want to write, all you’ve ever cared about is writing, films, travel and art, or anything else for that matter.

That’s all you care about.

That you’d gladly trade most anything for a life filled with these things.

That you’d prefer death to living any way else.

And that so much in your life just feels like compromise because that’s what you’re supposed to do.

And it has nothing to do with being grown-up or mature or getting real. And everything to do with getting in line.

But a fixed system is never going to be fair. So why do it? What is the point?

You’ve wanted to do these things and to help people. But you’re not really helping people if you’re not being yourself. You’re denying the world the chance to see you for what you really are.

And people are irrelevant. This social presence is irrelevant. Your life and persona are irrelevant.

You can let it all fall away, even for a little while. Because you need to talk to you, and listen to what you have to say.

The only relationship you have to cultivate is with your muse. Get your money and get out to a closed door peaceful place where no-one can hear you scream. And let it all out.

Start now. You’ve got nothing but the time you have left but you never did. And one day spent as yourself is better than a life of nothing at all.

Enjoy what you enjoy. Love what you love. Do what you do. But do it every day.

Write every day. Use it as a weapon or as a tool.

What about just telling the world to fuck off and doing nothing for a while other than create?

Do you really want to do anything else?

As Mary Oliver said: ‘Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”


I am unable to sleep, and when I finally sit down all of the thoughts in my head that I wanted to write down go. So, here I am. Fuck you. I just can’t get to sleep. That’s not even the goal any more. I actually want to have a talk with you, about a lot of things. I guess all the things that I wanted to write down are just ego talking, so let’s see what we can work out between us. Maybe I’m just wound up because my Japanese exam didin’t go so well, I don’t know. But, well, let me put it this waty, if there’s ever been aything you wever wanted to say to me then now would be a good time to say it if indeed the only time to say it. And I guesss vice versa, though right now I don’t have any words left in me, and that’s what seems to be the problem. For me at least. But, please, with all love and blessings, talk to me. I don’t know who I am what to do or where to go, I don’t even know if I have the strength to get there or any life left in me, or enough time to do it all. Or even time enough to do something, even just one thing that mattered. I suspect not, and that’s always been my problem. This nagging fear of dying before you get your work done coupled with not doing your work. Call it what you want, including fear and including laziness. But it’s there. So what do I do? Your work of course, but it’s not your job so much to decide what your work is or if you have enough time or not. If you begin you will have time. If you don’t begin then you will not have time. How do I begin. You just have. You begin by beginning. You begion every time you try to write somrthing down. Even writing down little scraps in the morning. You begin when you have truly begun. You will feel it because you will have begun. And who says it has to be writing or just that, how about living your life and not being afraid of that? Do you not think that is part of your work too? It’s part of your work to live and to learn, not just to write. Every time you are kind to someone or teach them something, you have begun. Every time you make a difference in someone’s life, that was part of your work. You’ve helped a lot of poeple, even if you don’t see that yourself yet. And you’re still here, so you still have time to change. The moment is your life. Everyone — their life can be condensed right down to one moment, and that moment is the point of death. Or perhaps the thing that they see at the point of their death, one image from their entire life. Imagine that. You haven’t lived yours yet — the image that will be condensed down to account for your life. It’s still in your future, not in your past. But it has been there all along. And it is not even the point of your death, which you already knew about and feared so long that you got one day past the point that you’d feared. None of these things meant that much to you, or matter. What timing to get a nice message from someone you once taught? You think that’s just a coincidence? You want to be a great writer, well then teach the world by having something to say and having the courage to say it. Show us, lead by example. Say it. You are the only one who can say just exactly what it is that you have to say. Literally. Life is the end, not the beginning. Life is beginning to remember all the stuff that you did before you were born. That’s why you feel so old. Be nice even to the people that annoy you. Especially to them. This right here, this moment, is a kind of sleep. Listen to it. If you have nothing to say to me, then say what you have to say through me. And so they gave you sleep. There is a brown paper bag with your name on it. Sleep won’t lie down in bed with you, but it may come and find you at the table working. Now what does that tell you about sleep? How come suicide suddenly feels irrelevant? The world is so much bigger than you. And it will eat you alive if you let it. But that’s not what you get from these moments, this madness, this cure. You get that this space is yours to keep, you own it, insofar as you can be said to own anything at all. These sudden quiet moments in the middle of the night are yours and yours alone. We all have them, of course, but they belong to you in particular, each one in turn, We all have our own thoughts even if we are all in this together. Tiredness is not the enemy. Sleep is not the enemy. Life is not the enemy. Death is not the enemy. And dammit you are not the enemy. It’s funny, because you don’t see whare you are going with this, but we are waiting for you to catch up wth us. You can stay awake if you want to, or you can sleep if you want to. It’s just that you more often than not choose to sleep. And who could blame you for that. And now, you even feel more for fictional characters than you feel for yourself. But they were put there to reflect you, for you to get the point from their stories. And you dismiss it as television. Words like rain or thunder a tapping on the keys. Noise from everyone else not sleeping but not minding who they keep awake. Noise from you even though you have to be at work soon. Feel better? All you have to do is breathe. Remember that. Hey, but wait a minute, we’ve hardly spoken. Yes, I know. It’s like premature ejaculation don’t worry it happens to everybody. Just kidding, we do have a sense of humour here too you know. You managed a state change now go get some sleep. And we will be write there with you in the morning, just get up as soon as we tell you to. You control it of course, but you know what I meant. It’s not for us to tell you what to do with your life, but if we have dreams to show you then maybe afterwards you should write them down?! Go to bed, it’s alright. That was kind of the point. We just wanted you to calm down a little. We will talk again soon, in the morning even. Just get some rest.