This sounds metaphorical, but I’m going to be really honest about this and risk the all white patty wagons speeding to my location with gallons of halidol and restraints. But I don’t mean this as vivid imagery, or filler material. I mean I really, with my own eyes see this process unfold in front of me every single day, as you read this jumbled shit you can be rest assured that it was spun together by strange tendrils that I cannot and do not want to understand or control. This is the closest thing that I’ve ever had o a “god” or worship of any sort and the fact that don’t know shit about it, takes the pressure off of my mind and responsibilities off of my bruised shoulders.
Trust me I’ve considered the obvious of psychopathy and schizophrenia but I can feel intuitively that it’s bigger, brighter, and profound than that and that’s where my pursuit of understanding stops. I’ve never asked other folks what it’s like for them when they write in the same way I don’t ask people what sex is like for them. This style of plucking keys is as personal to me as my stroke cadence, if you’re meant to find out you will, both literary and sexually.
This obviously adds a question to the mix, “if the process is personal then why are you posting it online for everyone to judge and experience?” I ask the same question every time I press attach and upload these groups of letters. The answer is somewhere between the desire to meet likeminded or alternatively minded individuals and share experiences, and crippling loneliness that comes with this field. If my talent wasn’t meant to be shared it wouldn’t be the process of putting every word bubble and thought into words on paper. Why do people fuck on camera? Money, low self esteem, personal pride, (insert your excuse here). The plea I’m sticking to is I’m a glutton for punishment and can’t help myself. But like all of these puddles of viscous fluid, that’s not for me to decide or understand. Good luck.
“Mental defective” “pain admirer” “possessed lyricist”
Travis muffhuggin Ryan