It’s 1am and I’m writing. I feel peaceful and everything feels glowy and gentle right now. I like this energy. I took a nap earlier today and now I feel too wired to sleep. I also drank a coffee at 4pm and went for a long walk at 10pm so I’ve completely fucked my sleep for the night. It’s weird to connect to myself, to tune back into my skin and energy. It feels like a distant dream re-emerging. I feel like the last time I fully saw myself was when I was in Guatemala in early June. Everything since then has been a surreal chaos.
I keep coming up with essays I want to write. I have a section in my phone devoted to chapter titles. I came up with a bunch of them while in a van winding through volcanic countryside. I want to try and write a book. We’ll see. I feel like that’s where my energy is going these days. I have the title picked out. It’s a good one. I’m not telling you. Fuck off. Speaking of which, I thought about fucking off to Sri Lanka for a couple months. Find a residency in a rainforest and spend time surfing, eating mangoes, be a vagrant on the beach, work on my writing.
It’s not a bad idea, but I think my writing is better to work on incrementally as opposed to all at once. I think time is important because it allows for things to settle and evolve. I was also thinking of going to Cambodia and getting Sak Yant tattoos. Sak Yant are traditional Buddhist tattoos that are hand poked into your back. I keep looking at images of them, tigers splayed across backs, Pali phrases above them. I really want to get a bunch of tattoos. I was thinking of getting Urdu poetry on the back of my arms and a giant one in cursive on my leg that says “Dreamer.” I know. Maybe. I like the idea of getting carved up.
But yeah the writing thing. It’s happening more and more which is wild. This is the second post I’ve written today. I wrote another one earlier today and shoved it into my notes app. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it. My writing is getting split into two projects. One is the shit I post on here and the other is experimental stuff, shelved and marinating until I can make sense of how to use it. The experimental stuff is nice, much more poetic, but it’s bits and pieces and feels like a work in progress.
I like writing that kind of swallows you. Do you listen to Stef De Haan? His music is so bouncy. I want my writing to feel like that. I want my writing to feel like you did a bunch of ecstasy and you’re alive in a different kind of way. I was at the bookstore and I got anxious looking at other people’s writing. It’s so fucking good I spent an hour hating myself. To be fair though I don’t plan on being an ornate writer. Simplicity is too important to me. I love Robert Greene because his stuff reads beautifully. It’s simple and evades stuffy intellectualism while being incredibly intelligent. You’re connecting with someone who understands what it’s like to be a working person in a complicated world. That’s a good energy.
a soft death 