THIS Rhett Butler Will Never Die

 

A vacuum; my mind is like a vacuum. No, that’s not right. Time is a vacuum cleaner and it sucks out the contents of my mind. I’ve lost nine days. I won’t tell you how or what I was doing – just take my word for it that I was unable to write, even for this blog record. And now I must refill, recharge, restart – damn, I just gotta start writing again. I have to admit that one thing is really giving me a lot of difficulty right now and that thing is beginning; writing the first sentence. I feel like it would be easier to start mid-paragraph and then write the first sentence later after I get a better feeling of how it is that the story is being told. What a great idea! I have been telling my girlfriend a story at night for her to go to sleep by. As it turns out it is a pretty good story and I am starting to think about actually writing it. This is all I need; a competition in my mind for my attention to be divided amongst competitors. I cannot do this. If I do anything I have to b...

Something is amiss today. A sobering, smoldering sense of something or other has descended upon me and well, I am feeling rather melancholy. It is a little like a depression, a sadness, or a disappointment. Not really quite sure what has prompted it as I have not felt exactly this way in a fair while. An actual thought of suicide popped into my mind; not so much of a need or a deed but a familiar, old sensibility that it is a friend that will always be available to take me all the way home. Regardless, this being a familiar feeling makes it rather welcome. It feels a little med induced. I did have trouble getting to sleep last night – had only taken .5 Ambien at 9pm thinking that I’d get to sleep early; which I did. But I awoke around 4am and had to take another .5 to get back to sleep. Morning meds have just been plain old strange for weeks now. I can’t control how I am going to feel any morning at all and usually am not able to do anything until noon. Writing to...

I found a buyer for my VAIO desktop computer system and I’m giving him a real deal. I need the money to satisfy some of my creditors after some massive purchases I made in this past month. This is going to push all of my computing onto the laptop. Which in essence is fine. It just means that I have to become even more careful of it. Of how I treat it and the data that is on it and that I never loose it or let it be stolen. I have got to devise a back up procedure by which I everyday archive new files off the hard drive. And this ushers in this new, large project of printing off all of my doc files that I have written over the past year that I can use. I’ll order the laser printer tonight or tomorrow. Well, this is a first, this new entry. I’m going to file it in the personal diary category. Practically everything I used to write for my blog was personal, and I’ve strongly stated that this blog is a writing diary but I don’t know, every once in awhile will you mind if I just spi...

The scheme of the writing, that is it! Everything I have made as notes for my novel so far this year, that is what I want to use as the second level voice that i write my novel with. The voice that I think and scheme with, the voice that I make propositions with and that I explore options of ideas with as… god this is just more bullshit… A novel about writing a novel, well, why wouldn’t that work? Ok man, get clear on what is you mean here. You flounder around all over the place and this central idea gets weak… And when it does the whole thing falls apart. OH MAN HOW ABOUT THIS! Write your novel about ( The Cemetery Suicides 8 DARYLBARNETT ) . But then write the second voices tale separately? Like part two of the book? but that would be weird, who would be interested in reading an appendix after they read a story, unless the after-story was as , if not more interesting than what they had just read? Now that could be something. The reader would get about halfway (or more) thr...

I have so much to build a story from but when I try to force it into something usable it just doesn’t’ work. Is this the way to do it? I’ve said this so many times, that I want to tell you the story of me trying to write this story. Tell you about the whys and the how to’s that I choose to include to explain what I tell you. for instance, why do I insist on talking so damn much about cemeteries? Why does talking with the dead, or trying to fascinate me so much? (I don’t care about the fact that other people can do so. It is my own need to do so that is important and so damned interesting to me.) I am glad that I wrote so much about my torment of loneliness since last July because those pieces carry so much description of my raw and hurt, desperate emotions. I believe that I can cull through that work and find much work from which I can draw upon to begin the actual work of my novel from. So this means that I need to start the tedious task of mulling through my transcripts. I t...

I have found new blood! It’s amazing to me, sometimes at least – see, if I said it was amazing all the time it would be trite (or would it be tripe) but moments of realization are equally as powerful as moments of ennui are debilitating. As an example I’ll share a story comparing yesterday’s “writers mind” to the “writers mind” I am experiencing today. I sat for a very long time yesterday (well it was long to me, longer than I think I have experienced this syndrome at least in my modern writing life -=twenty minutes=-) staring at my cursor that blinked on a blank WORD screen. Over the past six days the ideas of my novel have expanded into a much larger piece than I had been working with prior. I created a new outline and yesterday sat down to begin writing the first chapter. In those moments I realized one of the truest moments of my entire writing experience; I realized that writing is hard . And I suddenly felt like I could not write . That I did no...

Journal entry – My own 7.5.2005 My DarylDellamorte Bravejourna l has been gone for about ten days now. Inadvertently deleted from the internet I began to somewhat regret my snap decision, accidental as I reasoned the event to be. Since that date I have started to peruse blogs outside of the spectrum of Bravejournal and have found elements of structure that I deem admirable. For a Bravejournal , DD was a formidable presentation. And proudly I can state that I was never elected (or selected, or self-nominated) for the revered by many, Journal of the Week award. I am proud in a negative sense. I want acclaim from not being acclaimed. So two online friends (I do not use that term lightly) have made personal pleas for me to reconsider, well, writing for them . I created a new blog through a different host recently, incognito with an entirely different written voice. Not only would old readers not know the site was mine from lack of personal identification, ...

I’ve got an itch to do a Bipolar II magnitude event. Only thing is it is something that I would have to plan, and well, that kind of kills the required spontaneity of such a grandiose experiment. The urge? To get in my car next Thursday and drive 345 miles to Hollywood to see a death-metal band play a show in a club on Sunset Blvd. I asked 2 people to go with me and both declined; one because he has to work all that night, the other because – well, his life partner just had a baby 4 days ago. There is one more person I could ask but he has already started to enter the stodgy and stoogie stage of life, the mid-30’s and I shouldn’t waste my breath on him. I will ask though just so that one more person will be witness to how wild and crazy, and well in this case stupid and irresponsible I can be? Oh and I just had another brilliant breakthrough of an idea. I could put up a post on craigslist.com just to see what kind of reaction I could get. I’ll go do that right now...

Private journal entry: June 18, 2005 It is just so weird how time can seem to stretch itself out some times and at other times condense itself very tightly. It seemed like a flash-moments inspiration during a manic spending spree that pressured me, no actually insisted that I buy that Ouija board on eBay. There were flash visions of myself sitting alone in the cemetery next to favorite graves in the dark, Ouija on my lap – asking specific questions of the interred about their lives and their unfortunate demises. It still doesn’t sound like all that bizarre of an endeavor to explore the possibilities of; not really, does it? But I have not touched the Ouija board since it arrived, other than excitedly taking it out of its makeshift mailing package and slipping it out of its browned, aged box to verify that it was real, undamaged and well, whether I got any energy from it or not. Yes, yes, and pretty much no. That must have been two months ago. Since the night o...

Like the dreamscape you could not describe to me this morning, only because there are no words in our language that can contain or shape the complexity and delicacy of the meanings your heart’s subconscious breathed forth for you to peek at, I too can not find words that I can put together in any formation of sentence or even guttural utterance that could nearly start to describe the feelings of love that I am feeling for you right now. There is no image of anything in this world’s creation that within a millionth of a fraction of a fraction that nears the beauty that thoughts of you birth in my hearts and mind’s eyes. If there were a way I could describe how you are making me feel right this very moment to Rembrandt or Liszt or Shakespeare, they would all fail in attempting to transform these emotions into art or music or poetry because there is nothing beautiful enough in this world that my words could describe to compare to which would inspire them greatly enough pa...

It’s strange how a little wave of energy can influence the stasis of normalized organizations and systems. Well, maybe it’s not all that strange at all. I have actually experienced something very similar to what happened to me this morning before. I just can’t decide how many words to use to describe it, or in which way to… ah hell. I know how to enter trance states. There are many ways in which trances can be induced but most take initiative from the seeker. ___ In a trance this morning I descended into a very familiar, yet infrequently visited space inside my heart. It is a place of longing for God, a place of missing the Divine, a place where I can moan about my anguish and petition the heavens for the thing that will make me complete; my missing portion of love that resides inside the heart of my beloved. She is the only key that will fit the lock that secures the portal of my soul, the opening of which transmutes lifetimes of misery and l...

How do you know when you have found something? Does it take stating that something has been missing? Is admission of such lack a sign of weakness? Is it owning the condition of missing a thing that one becomes able to obtain it? What about the powers of need, want, desire and longing. Do these energies polarize, magnetize or neutralize the mind and souls abilities to create from seeming nothingness things which can make us content, even smile? Things which can soothe our souls? Things which can end our searching? There is something I have wanted for a very long time. It has recently manifested itself in my life. Was I looking for it? Was I expecting to find it any day now? Did I really believe that it actually existed? My answer is “no” to all of these questions. I gave up looking for it. I no longer thought that by “not looking” for it that it would just appear. I even stopped imagining that my dream object could even exist, even in my fantasies. Then I awoke to a diffe...

A(nother) complex and (very) disturbing dream… originally written - 11.11.03 What a fool for love I am. Why do I take these classes with these young people? Why am I attracted to these young women? Why do I want to fall in love with a girl that is young enough to be my daughter? For all that matter, how and why did I fall in love with Kacey last spring? What am I missing inside that makes me think being close to a young female will be comforting to me. It has started to happen already, again. This is a dream that I had. I was in Santa Cruz and Suriya was there. She was my lover. She was my confidant. I loved her and she loved me. She is a dominating woman to me. She is more powerful than I am. She makes me bend to her whims. And I do what she wants me to. I crave to be controlled. I starve to please. Submission makes me whole. If I were actually in Santa Cruz tonight I would be drinking. I would be drinking so much. I would be writing too. I...

Will I be moved to take vengeance for this young girl who has become so precious to me, who has become so much a part of my heart that I can’t take a breath without thinking of and feeling what she is thinking and feeling right where she is in time and place each moment of my worthless and painful existence? Will I become inspired to follow in the footsteps of the psychotically inspired Travis Bickle who rescued and avenged a guileless teen girl from the scum that prostituted her upon the streets of NYC in 1976? No. Will I become inspired to derive a blood recompense from the sadistic, senseless, stupefying and idiotic murderers that slaughtered the wife and children of Josey Wales? No. Or will I seek out and destroy every thug-spirited, insane-punisher and childhood-destroying drug-dealing ghoul that raped and murdered the greatest two loves that Paul Kersey had in all eternity, also on the streets of NYC in 1974? No. But do I feel like these men felt? Not exactl...

we have only been reunited in this incarnation for 22 days now and we are about to spend the longest time yet without communication; 4 days. i have never felt so not-left-alone though as i do now, it must be simply because it is her . i am finally back with her.