Sunday, 3 June 2012
I find a certain sense of freedom in writing, the chance to empty my brain, regardless of if anyone bothers to read my outpourings or not.
and my current writings are freer than ever
the last post I wrote on the floor of my spare bedroom, I was in there putting clothes away and the thought struck me to write, so I did
and this post is being beamed into the Internet from on the can, after having just endured watching David Cronenburg's Naked Lunch. it bored me terribly.
perhaps it is films about writers, I didn't much care for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas either, something about both films (and Hunter S. Thompson's book) just left me feeling cold
but the use of typewriters intrigues me still.... I used to use one when I was younger, it made me feel like a real writer, probably because I was told not to play with it, so I didn't play with it, I wrote with it, and I still have a handful of pages of a Batman story I began writing knocking around somewhere at my mum's house
I have a lot of scribblings, a lot of poems, jotted down on scraps of paper and in A4 paper refill pads, some I may have shared here and there, some will probably remain unearthed for a very long time
and now, in more recent history I have latched onto blogging, taking the time to sit at a computer and publish my thoughts, except that lengths of time away from a computer sometimes leaves nasty gaps in my continued online journal
now, and now I blog with a greater freedom than ever, from my girlfriend's parents sofa, from the spare bedroom floor or from the bathroom
maybe a I shall even have a crack at my next novel on this dandy little gizmo
and maybe it will be better than Naked Lunch and Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, or maybe it won't