As goes the psyche, so goes the pen

Drip drip drip drip thip thip thip thip drip drip drip drip thip thip thip thip…

“Sounds like my faucet in disrepair,” you say?

Try hearing that all day, every day. Try hearing and feeling drip drip drip drip thip thip thip thip on top and inside your head all the time and then try such flippant comparison again. Every fucking time there’s the sound, there’s the sensation, the two make the phenomenon—drip drip drip drip thip thip thip thip means wetting of the same 1-inch radius, the same pi-inches-squared area, followed by geometrically different but equirhythmic radiations all day long.

I won’t talk—I won’t—and that’s why the dripping and thipping won’t stop, why a bit of my scalp is bare, why little, cracked bowls are wetted in the same time, time after time.

I thought this method of torture was bygone, but it’s 2013 already and still
I’m getting dripped and thipped insane by this routine, these habits, by myself. All the play I have now is with letters. No longer do I play with sounds, spoken words. No one would or will play like I want to.

This, here, my jungle gym, my wooden castle like the one distant daddy brought and built one Christmas—brought and built by daddy, played with ad nauseam, until that consistency became drip drip drip drip thip thip thip thip.

Though I’m aware of what’s happening and my body and the rest of me are free to go, I continue furiously and only semiapologetically; what separates this from my boyhood playground?

I suppose that since I am still that boy at heart I need to play, and since now I won’t play with my body like I used to, I must play with letters.

But can I reengage my muscles, my bones, my connective tissues, my organs? My soul is healthy, engaged. My letters come from my body, so my body is engaged. That’s right. This is everything I need.

Advertisements

One Response to “As goes the psyche, so goes the pen”

  1. A few things about this:

    1) it’s experimental
    2) it’s supposed to represent psychosis not caused but stoked by social isolation; the narrator might behaving physical hallucinations, or might be talking in nonsensical metaphors–you decide
    3) it’s supposed to represent one who writes but has no readily writable experience outside of his inner world
    4) it doesn’t ultimately hang together. I realize that.
    5) it’s meant to be a triumph of style over substance
    6) a message: don’t try to justify social isolation.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: