"practice"

 she would hate it if she knew

thirteen years ago

just 'practice '

Living in the power of ferkin 'now'.

Now, who would have thought:

All i care about - all, literally the only thing,

is that one fine minded writerly person may just DO it.

And one could write great log pious essays about how one 'lets go'. 

And everything about that we 'know'.

All of which for several years i have inadvertently disproved, writing often may times a day to the man I

'love' 

And who know how with hindsight he may be even  described? what word for him? I am still at a loss.   The brown man from the boot of the land. Whatever...

All i know is that many a time my heart is partly in my mouth at our Socratic texts "have we crossed the line!?" 

But love - real love and respect, knows no line. All of them are artificial. As him and I, seemingly alone, know.  And beyond here lies nothing, else. By which I mean, we have the perfect human (non warm-handholding-scientifically-needed-person) relationship: no need for any explanation. We just BE. As rude as possible, and make each other laugh, but rarely admit it. There are no lines, except the 'colour' bar,  we smash through every day, often at dawn... and whip each other with as we....just dance

Bojangles and I, or in his case halfcaste as that part

Anyway maybe one day i shall come to that

But this morn: i really did not think it would actually 'work'

Going in to the writerly 'zone'  - like.... this.....

Thirteen year 'nago the zone was found.

But i always thought the urgency of perhaps even finite battery, had trained me (then off grid, too)

And something about the complete inability due power limitations to sit and ponder and fret about words, sentences, ideas, and what to say...

that caused me then to stop the fuck being ME!!!

And 'get out of the way of the words' 

Bu in the not being me there were ingredients - rather than silence, for decades i needed to 'think',  often a good  stirring tune on in the headphones helped.... especially the old fave Freebird - but it has to be the right version...

or so i thought.  

I did know one thing: certain 'situations' would 'result' in, something; no plan,  no intention, just sit and write....and an hour later i remain in the 'zone', non stop - hardly even a moment to ever reflect, or reread (still i work on a broken keyboard which needs whacking so hard it causes fingerend bruising) or detypo.....   

But no, even if i prefer writing with a cheap fountainpen and paper, no way can one just go into the same 'zone' that way - not possible.... and i shall miss that...

I know better - i KNOW (this is what the Black swan is...all those years of being me, knowing me... or insert anyone else, with her beautiful nose) 

until 

I just sat up in the hills at the side of the road and 

did not stop.

The first draft

but in exactly the same non stop, zone..

 so i can do it, any..where... any time...  any place....don't even need a plug any more...

wow

But the even more 'interesting' thing, is.

My dull little life of richest riches, is one of for 13 years  - sort of, never mind seven before, at times, undergoing every mindfuckingly hard 'Trials of Hercules " and abyss of grief and 'trauma' they all waffle on about. I know all the DSMS  https://www.psychiatry.org/psychiatrists/practice/dsmas i did law - the real version, where it is used to destroy people  and societies....as it has...

with all their (i sill dont know what it means and am 'expert' "narcissism" - bracketed as it doesnt WORK!!! speaking so) 

Years in the desert ( no not "catastrophe" or even Gurdjieffs 'shock' treatment - notions dreamed up by absurd children creating hysteria for money,  as they are not in tune with rural zen, one and all)

Only years - several at least, in the desert - no imaginable future, or happiness ever again... only bleakness and draining dull KNOWING all is over, actually is a genuinely 'bad' experience...  and yet the baddest of course, survive that and all is ok..

except by every DSM rule (and absurd 'workshop' instruction session,  to herd the people for money into some spiritual or other 'knowing' at £150/day ..)  my handwriting should have got worse over the years - especially the last seven...

But it has not.

It is now almost passable, when before it was not.

Of course there is the Black Swan rit large.... scrawled across the front door to her...

if only anyone could still read...