My first prayer. I’m 14. “Give me this gift, and I’ll give it to You.” I wanted to write. I think what was missing most (perhaps not untragically) was my sense of wonder and curiosity. I was 14, I knew everything, and I was miserable. My writing was bad, like the roar of a lion cub. Mostly lyrical prose ranting against the religion of my parents, innocently self-important and stuck together sloppily with a forced rhyming scheme. Something, however, was born when I etched those corny lyrics of my own mind onto the pages of that fat notebook. I didn’t know it at the time, and my mother had encouraged me to keep writing. So did my creative writing teacher, and a few friends down the road as well.
I didn’t know what alcoholism and drug addiction was. Before I could reach the age of reason, it swallowed my life up and made the pain go away. By 18, I’m in the habit of writing while stoned. Same lyrical prose, but now the forced rhyming has been done away with. Subtlety and wordplay begins to creep into my work.
I suppose, like many in my generation, I’ve always been prone to consciousness expanding phenomena. Most of my sober moments were inhabited by dark and negative thoughts, slowly revolving around each other in a loop. I say, my sober moments that was…I’d learned how to open the window with drugs like MDMA, psilocybin mushrooms, and even marijuana.
Now, I’ve come full circle. Having been brought to the black grace of self-destruction that I needed to be brought to, I am clean now. When I’m calm, I can see the spiritual pulse underneath everything; technology, lights, sound, color, the presence of another being, and in my own consciousness. I’ve learned that, for me, writing is the tool of the spirit, and I want to know…how far can I push the boundary with writing? What revelations can be brought about simply by sitting down with an intention to be made available to whatever is available? That is the main point behind this endeavor…
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