I have been writing here for six months. As I've mentioned before, I didn’t write anywhere for a long time, so this is actually significant. Well, to me.
It’s good to have this in my life again. I’ve remembered that it’s one of the things I enjoy doing alone, like walking, or riding my bike, or daydreaming. Things that get you someplace else.
There’s a rhythm I fall into when I walk by myself, a particular pace that gets the words going. I write all kinds of things in my head when I walk: essays, stories, love letters, emails. I have walked across the city and written complete plays; the dialogue is rapid-fire and perfect, I can feel the characters speaking as I walk. But I never stop to write it down. And then it goes away.
I have thought about carrying a recording device with me and speaking what I walk-write into it. But that would be strange, wouldn’t it? I’d feel like Agent Cooper. The best thing would be to have a cell phone that was actually a tape recorder. Then no one would even notice.
I wonder if it’s possible to write and be in a romantic relationship? You’d have to disappear sometimes, and that’s hard to do when you’re with someone. Maybe that’s what I’ve been learning this whole time -- how to disappear? Maybe that’s the freedom you learn when you’re alone.
All I want to do lately is write and have sex. If the government gave out grants for this, I’d be phenomenally prolific. S. is a stop-gap measure, a compromise, but already I’m bored. I get bored when my heart’s not in things. My grade two teacher told me that and it’s still true.
Uranus is transiting my relationships sector. Duh.
Maybe there’s a way to be lovers with someone and still be able to disappear? When you came back, you could tell each other where you’ve been and then fuck each other’s brains out. And that would be love.
Anyway, it’s my blog’s six-month anniversary. I’m going to eat chocolate.