Today I’m writing with a pint of beer. Let’s see how this goes. I tried writing with coffee, it ended up in a buzzy swarm of sentences. I tried writing with wine, that put me to sleep really quickly. Here we go.
So, you were born on a specific day. Do you know what day you were born on? No, I don’t care about the date, I mean, what was the actual day? I was born on a Sunday so that might explain my appetite for procrastination. The day of the week you were born on, seems to affect your life in a real, physical way. Check it out yourself, you might be surprised.
My procrastination seems like a massive, slow, retarded animal. Two crappy pages a day seems to work for me like a sorcerers spell. No matter what combination of letters comes out of these fingers, it’s still a work that is being done. I mean you can argue that it’s not the right kind of work as it’s not focused on a particular topic. The difference between me and someone who aims for an awesome post/article/paper, is that I actually have done the work, the other person is still waiting for the right moment to happen. This is the truth – You are waiting for Yourself. The dragon will keep biting its tail, the cycle of non-doing will continue until you break the chain. Break the habit of procrastination. Create a habit of writing. Two crappy pages a day is the tool to get you there.
There is no right or wrong moment for working. There is only working and not working moments. If I just write shitty text I don’t publish it, If it’s good, then in the morning I reread it, with a double espresso in my veins, make some adjustments, remove the shitty parts and bam!
The brain is telling me to quit now, he’s saying „This is pointless... What is the point of writing if no one reads your shit?” I say to thee: „Shut the fuck up monkey brain! That is not the right way to talk to this amazing human being!”.
I know this brain guy so well… He sits in the skull and analyzes, scans everything, acts like animal afraid of a predator that does not exist. What the brain can’t see is that there is more to writing than just wanting someone to read your stuff. Writing (or any art form in that matter) is the crowbar for the door of your subconscious mind.
There are some things I hate about writing, but also there is something I enjoy about this art. I enjoy the flow experience of writing. I can fell it in my body. Time is warped. Unlike making music, writing requires less resources. In order to make a rap song you need a beat, you need to go to the studio, write the text, record it, fix it, record it, fix it, get back home from the studio, listen to your track, make adjustments, go back to the studio and crank up the song.
Every art form has its pros and cons. The point I want to make here is that writing hits a sweet spot for me. I don’t need to travel to get a text going. I can instantly see my work, I don’t need to wait for the sound engineer to mix and master my track. That is the power of writing. The con of writing is that probably nobody has read this post and never will. But again that is my brain talking. My highest self is happy that this text has been written, that the soul has been boiled down to a couple of sheets of paper.
Making a song requires a lot of effort, a lot of time, a longer creative process then writing. Writing just seems like a thought that has been pulled from your head and threaded onto the screen/paper. Making a song is a longer process, it might be similar to making a painting. It requires being in the moment, it requires for you to go outside of the box. Well I guess writing also requires more effort for me, as English is not my first language. I like to write in English, I don’t know why. Perhaps my brain is somehow more the flavor of English sentences. Perhaps in a subconscious way I want my writings to be available worldwide. I want everybody that is in search of their soul to find this blog, click it, read it and go „Ohhh, hmm interesting, this guy might be on to something”.
I’m on to nothing I’m telling you. I’m a 30 year old that is working in a corporation that just uses writing as a form of personal therapy. If I write, then I can later see what was my mood, what were the quality of my thoughts.
Writing. Butterfly hunting. That is the essence.
A pack of sour cream chips is lying on the table. I raped that package. God damn how I love chips and beer. They go so well together, but it’s a toxic relationship. I can only meet you guys once a week. I have divorced my unhealthy diet a long time ago, I can only see the chips once a week.
Dear brain. One day you will cease to exist. Your neurons will stop all communication and life will stop. What was the fear for? How many chances have you made me waste? How many beautiful girls have I not fucked because of your espionage. God damn it, Fuck you! You can be a wonderful tool, but at times you don;t believe in yourself.
Ohh here comes the time where my flow concentration is about to bust. After two pages. After two fucking pages, my concentration my brain, my being is saying, this is it. Is there a way to rewire this process? Is there a way? Fuck me, I wish I had the answers, or if there was like a manual for a happy, accomplished artist. Become a Famous Writer in Five Easy Steps. Just 9.99$. Well, there ain’t no book like this, and there should never bee one. Art, writing, music, all of them are a process of self discovery. If you are a lazy fuck, if you procrastinate, you cannot be an artist. Doing the work separates the boys from the men. It separates the amateur from the professional, it shows who’s got the balls, and who’s got a big fat pussy.
Where is this power, this will coming from? What is the flow? Why is it so hard to access? Why isn’t everybody wanting to experience it? It’s almost like the perfect drug. Free from charge (except the time and effort it takes to get into the flow experience). I wanna rip bongs of flow. Inject flow into my veins like that good ol’brown sugar.
The part of writing I don’t like is that you can’t tap into this kind of flow every time. Some days I just sit, and have nothing to say, nothing comes out. For two pages, I just simply repeat the words „Two crappy pages a day”. Today I thought I have nothing to say, but some gems did pour out. Is it my muse that is watching over me, is the alcohol? Maybe it’s the full moon that’s out today. I don’t know, might be a combination of all of the above.
I’m halfway through the beer. I don’t even look at what I’m writing I just want to let it go. Shit on the paper, vomit my emotions, I need that deep feeling, a deeper understanding of me by writing me out. So many layers. Writing is like the work of an archaeologist. You keep digging, keep digging, until you hit the top of the treasure chest. Once you find that, you find your soul. You finally have a purpose, you know your meaning, you know your destination and the road you need to travel.
I’m halfway through the beer. I can now notice those little nanosecond of time, where If I want to stand up, take a piss or even stop writing for a moment the flow will be gone for the day. There will be no coming back. This is the revelation for today. If you tap into the flow moment, you have to be in it. Focus and discipline come in very handy to keep in this lane of flow state Do not let yourself go after the distraction. A phone call? Fuck it, let it ring, an email notification ,fuck it, it’s spam, keep writing. Keep pushing, discover yourself, become the God that is hiding within.
You don’t have to write, I guess self discovery it can be done in any form. Painting, making music, poetry, archeology, sculpting, reading, writing, rock climbing, exercise, walking in the park mindfully.
Reading is a flow activity. You turn flow on if its a good book, a good read will take you away from earth, it will blow you int another dimension. That’s why I love reading. It’s another legal drug. More people should read books. Any kind of books. Feel the flow. Flow is the part of life that will make you touch the light deep down in you heart.