It has been more than a year since my last post. I’m embarrassed – it makes it look like I haven’t been writing. Not that it’s a public concern at all, but I have. There was a time, maybe a couple of months, when the thought of putting pen to paper scared the living hell out of me. I felt so clogged up, had so many things to say (even if there was no one else listening except my subconscious) and yet the moment I sat down to say it, I drew a blank.
I didn’t seem to have the right words and never enough time (there was always the promise of “later”, though we all know how often that bargain comes to fruition). Then I thought it was because I had taken a break from studying, and the discipline that had kept my reading and writing for a couple of hours every day was very noticeably missing from my life.
I could make any number of excuses, but at the end of that dry spell, when I finally wrote something, the cause became very clear. I felt clogged, yes, I had things I needed to say, yes, but what those things were, I had no idea. I was going through a period of upheaval where nothing seemed to be able to anchor me, and I realise now that all I needed to do at that time was to let myself be thrown about by life so that I would be able to write about it later. I don’t know how other people function, but I’ve learned (in many, many similar periods of intro-and-retro-spection) that I don’t know what the hell I’m thinking until it’s all over, and then I can finally sit down and write about it with some semblance of insight.
So, yes, for the past year, I have been writing. I’ve been writing short poems and jotting down any thoughts that pop into my head in a journal I keep by my bedside. But over the last couple of days I’ve felt the most incredible drive rising up inside of me, and I can only attribute that to one Mr. Allen Ginsberg.
I recently watched a movie called “Kill Your Darlings”; a semi-biographic depiction of the lives of the members of “The New Vision”; Lucien Carr, Allen Ginsberg, Jack Karouack, Wiliam Burroughs and David Kammerer, all key members of the Beat generation of new poets rising up in the 40’s.
The movie inspired me to read more of Ginsberg’s poetry and all I can say is that I have had my mind BLOWN (not unlike that which happened between Ginsberg and Neal Cassady).
I’ve been writing again, like crazy. 3am in the morning, fueled by cigarettes and whiskey and pounding away at my keyboard – this is my happy place.
And I’m very happy to say, I’m back, bitches.