somewhere between the drum circle and the waltz

i am living so close to writing now that it is as essential and instinctual as breathing. what spurs me to continue writing day in and day out? i haven't published anything and the thought of publishing seems so far away and exotic, like a great destination whose plane ticket i'll never be able to afford. my life is no great adventure, not a cinematic one at least, i work part time for minimium wage at a dive shop and at a book store (which really doesn't have too many books...in fact, a book worm like myself can't help but feel a bit naked in there). so why? why wake every morning to scrawl out to-do lists and thoughts half drowned from when you turned over the oceans of your dream life for your waking life? because i must. something drives me, a red bull maybe, pushing further and further to the corners of my perceptions. i want to reach the abyss. i want to see everything that cannot be imagined. then, perhaps, i'd die happy.

but perhaps it's premature to think about death seeing that this is the month of january and unlike any other month, january sparkles and shines with more newness and the gravity of a second chance than any other time of year and thus death, should be the furtherest topic discussed at such a time. excuse me for being so inconsiderate.

the sun has flipped, so the west owns it now. it beats into my eyes. how clear is the setting sun? i pull a thin piece of frabic over its stare. i'm getting a headache, too much light in the mind at one time sends the walls stretching for new territories, but it won't get any bigger than this, physically at least, the skull at least.

these entries are like dancing. i keep telling myself to get focused, to be disciplined. learn a step, do a turn, keep it tight, the perfect timing from beginning to end. then curtsy. ah! the instructed dance, the precise movements, the complete choreography or something linear and refined and elegant. the waltz. the story is the waltz. beautiful, measured, exact. but i am a free dancing, hip swaying, arms raised, feet jumping rebel. to spin out in a free write. to know the rhythm of the song, but to do which ever movement your body wants, feels, is bliss. there is no narrative besides wild, wild, wild, unbridled flow of words. the free write is the drum circle.

as any artist knows, the two must work together. the waltz is too static and predictable and drum circle, too eratic and combustible. there must be a balance. the flare and fire of the unbridled free flow and the perfected composition of the narrative structure.

funny thing about me is that i can write forever on how to write, but when am i going to get to it? this is the essay. much needed in it's own right. the essay makes sense of the feelings. too much feeling and not enough sense is unbalanced. and so, even this freewrite/essay is valuable. it has general course but nothing specific enough to let it step outside the realm of journaling and musing. but it's all writing. and that's something?