i was looking through old files i had scanned from years ago. the above is a scan of a proposed outline for a book, that i suppose is a partial autobiography & observations of our collective culture.
it’s interesting to see again, because i find myself coming back to the same topics in my work over and over again. this image was scanned in 2008 before a move, in an effort to declutter, but dates back much further. probably some late-90s draft of a manifesto.
this would have been something Lana & i would have discussed. i remember laying on the floor of her attic apartment, with pages spread out, discussing the differences of dissociation and disassocation, mental health and recovery.
Lana often challenged me to say things more directly. ‘Is this what you mean by X?’ She was an excellent editor and a more awesome friend.
Those were the days, coming of age, figuring out our lives & creating meaning from chaos and the challenges of life. making ends meet, and pizza parties, watching stupid tv shows and laughing.
the trickle of memories turn into a flood. i want to cry, bawl, and laugh and rage. this torrent can be a bit overwhelming. but i’m glad i have these memories. i want to hold onto them if it weren’t for the pain and grief that tags along.
i think a lot about ‘triggers’ and distractions to escape the heartache. everything is a trigger, so nothing is a catalyst for the memories to return. the memories are inside my head. and like a magic 8 ball you can rattle for different answers. shake well before serving.
i like my sense of hope. ‘Letter D. future envisioned’ explainations, ruminitions. i think all i’ve ever done in my writings is to try to find some answers to resolve the anguish and feelings of chaos. coming to terms, accepting or attempting to change the negatives to positives.
it’s not some pollyanna, saccarhine, rose-tinted glossy photo framed for public view. it’s a tiring effort of small corrections and reversals in direction.
i question, how did i get here to this moment. i shake my head in disbelief sometimes. but i know that i have created some sort of purpose through my rebellion. i know there are better ways of coping, dealing, surviving the pain, coming to terms with seeming chaos.
survival through structure, distraction, dissociation, fighting back against the odds.
but i need to remember to rest. remember to breathe. remember to feed my body. remember these reminders, resurfacing. recreate without destruction.
