There is something primitive about sitting alone in the dark. I hear my cat purring as she warms my lap, pressing into my legs with her fleshy pads and the few sharp tips of nails lucky enough to have escaped from their plastic prisons. This occurs as an almost out of body experience. I know she is there, rhythmically bashing into my hand with her cold, wet nose to solicit my attention, but I don't interact.
I am focused.
The computer monitor holds my attention, the clicking of my fingernails against the keys, and I watch as words form. Sentences appear. Paragraphs now, frenzied and disjointed, those words and sentences strewn together haphazardly in an attempt to find peace from this manic need to create.
I was once told that all creative people are psychologically "off." There is some facet of personality, some minor quirk that places them apart from the so-called normalcy of the rest of society. I have found, in my experience, that this is almost always true. It's an addiction, especially with the more recent creation of online societies, to seek the endorphin rush that comes with creating (even anonymously) for people who read, comment and ultimately inflate the ego.
I was born with an overactive sense of lust, in every sense of the word. I have lust in the most basic definition... I love to be involved in sexual trysts and liaisons, studying bodies with my hands and tongue, learning what makes people tick in the most primeval way. I have lust for life. I have lust for educating myself, teaching myself new words nearly every single day (in many languages). I have that manic lust for creating and for reading the words of the few who comment here. They feed me.
There are few who share my obsession, but I thoroughly enjoy engaging those who do the few times I'm able to online. It's almost like a secret society, filled with the angry, lustful, dispossessed, strong and intelligent. We're the revolutionaries of a new generation; one where writing is more accessible and you don't have to have a book deal to be heard. It feels good to share that with you.
I am focused.
The computer monitor holds my attention, the clicking of my fingernails against the keys, and I watch as words form. Sentences appear. Paragraphs now, frenzied and disjointed, those words and sentences strewn together haphazardly in an attempt to find peace from this manic need to create.
I was once told that all creative people are psychologically "off." There is some facet of personality, some minor quirk that places them apart from the so-called normalcy of the rest of society. I have found, in my experience, that this is almost always true. It's an addiction, especially with the more recent creation of online societies, to seek the endorphin rush that comes with creating (even anonymously) for people who read, comment and ultimately inflate the ego.
I was born with an overactive sense of lust, in every sense of the word. I have lust in the most basic definition... I love to be involved in sexual trysts and liaisons, studying bodies with my hands and tongue, learning what makes people tick in the most primeval way. I have lust for life. I have lust for educating myself, teaching myself new words nearly every single day (in many languages). I have that manic lust for creating and for reading the words of the few who comment here. They feed me.
There are few who share my obsession, but I thoroughly enjoy engaging those who do the few times I'm able to online. It's almost like a secret society, filled with the angry, lustful, dispossessed, strong and intelligent. We're the revolutionaries of a new generation; one where writing is more accessible and you don't have to have a book deal to be heard. It feels good to share that with you.
This entry was posted by Mellie, on
Wednesday, January 24, 2007.
