Tuesday, December 14

Dear Brian, 2009



I know you know

To write a good book you have to spit blood. I mean you have to be real honest. I’ve been trying to write as ‘silently’ as possible, to get it all out (all my feelings) but say as little as possible. Because I don’t want to hurt anyone by thinking anything I judge as inappropriate. I, the great judge.

Brian, when you read a good book and finish it, and you feel that moment of satisfaction, do you know what struggles and pain the writer went through to write that? Writing is like wrestling with yourself, where you never have the strength to win the fight.

I wonder (as you might) why do I bother writing when I have such trouble with it? I just always have, ever since I became literate really, I start writing books and then I stop and dismiss them as nonsense.   

Another thing to wonder, is why am I telling you this? I think it’s because if I don’t tell you I wont tell anyone. I’ll hold these thoughts face down into my organic swimming pool until they stop kicking.

I sweat when I write. I give myself abuse, I criticize everything. The only reason I got this far and wrote so much is because I was pretending I wasn’t listening. When I express myself clearly in writing I feel shocked and embarrassed, as if I’d walked in and turned on the lights to find my dad kissing the pool man.

I feel like I am a shadow of the person that I should be. I think that this has come to be because I don’t express myself well. I am afraid of making myself understood and I am ashamed. So therefore my whole system does not work as it should anymore. Things don’t come in as they should, get processed as they should or come out. Think of it as your metabolism. Imagine you hadn’t shat in years.

Dear Brian, I am going to sleep now before dawn breaks. But I promise us now that (come morning) I am going to take this horseshit I have written and open it up for you to read.

Right now it is written like a dead person holds on to a biscuit in their post-mortem stiff fist. But I am going to take each section and un-seal its meaning if it’s the last thing I do. God! It is going to be the most gruesome exercise. My stomach will quinch and my mind will twitch. In fact I feel the sourness of fear already!


How great!


I am repulsed to express how I feel and I am genuinely afraid to express what I think. But rather than live clogged up I am going to take this risk.   

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