Re: EMAIL from a Master poet

EMAIL from A Master Poet

Being a few thoughts on the Creative Process, Habits & the Dangers of Passive Smoking to the Third Person Singular..

*

And so another Sunday Afternoon is upon us,

and finds your humble correspondent and narrator,

the notorious Reverend Hellfire no less, locked once more in deadly combat with his traditional Adversary, Sunday’s Sermon.

For it is a rare Sermon that flies from his pen (or stumbles dyslexically from his keyboard) that is produced without the requisite amount of artistic angst, anxiety, self-doubt and, not least of these attendant corollaries, Creative Vacillation.

Such Vacillating is of course, a necessary part of what (swapping deftly here from the Third to the First Person) I like to think of as “the Creative Process“. Oh, it may look like procrastination, laziness, lack of focus, ADD, brain damage, hangover or a drug stupor to the untrained eye, but really it’s just the Amazing Brain, running through it’s many algorythms, lining everything up just right, like a billiard player trying to pull off the impossible shot.

Of course all this takes Time, which has to be filled in somehow, but fortunately I’m easily distracted.

Thus today, for example, I’ve managed successfully to procrastinate my way through the entire morning without writing a Word, by eating biscuits and watching old movies, even though the Guilt and associated Cognitive Dissonance, grows with every minute, and even some residual Work Ethic is threatening to kick in, if I don’t justify my existence on the planet for another week and freaking write something NOW!

Yes, all seems quiet, but the Psychic Tension of Things Undone has been building all day, like a bank of Thunderclouds looming on the horizon, and now has almost reached the Critical Mass where, in a torrential down-pouring of words I will actually write Something at last (or crack up completely and gibbering turn myself into the local Psych-Ward.)

It’s about here Procrastination makes a Last Stand

and I start sending random people aimless emails

instead of doing the work to hand..

*

Oh, “Hi“, by the way, and “how’s it going?”

Did I say that before?

No matter.

Introductory Salutations are out of Fashion anyway

in this Era of Blunt Utilitarianism.

*

Ahh! I really love my “Creative (coughs) Cycle”, the giddying Highs! The terrifying Lows. The Manic Obsessions, the Dissociative States! Yes it’s as powerful as any Drug and I’m quite addicted to it in a twisted, masochistic sort of way, for I am, after all, a Creature of Habit/s. Almost as good as Sugar. Or Tobacco. Speaking of which, I wish I had some now. (here pauses to inspect under fingernails for tobacco residue..spots a deposit and starts sucking feverishly on the nicotine stained digit).

I babble but its mainly cos, if I can stall a little longer, my Dear Daughter will be sticking her head around the door, demanding her daily driving lesson and I’ll be busy being bullied by her into taking a white knuckle ride thru peak hour traffic. Hmm should I take the car with poor brakes and steering, or the one with the worn clutch and the gears she can’t operate properly?

Decisions, decisions.

I think as a responsible Family Man

I’ll take the car with the brakes.

The price I’ll pay for this deferment of the pointy end of the writing business, will no doubt be another lecture on the evils of smoking, et al.. My daughter alas, not understanding the role of such things in the Creative Process, is a gullible shill for the Anti-Smoking Industry, and is forever badgering me with their ever proliferating propaganda campaign on the dangers of 2nd, 3rd, 4th, & 7th to the Third Power-Hand Passive Smoking. It’s getting to the point where my mere existence somewhere in the Universe will be having a detrimental affect on her health.

Perhaps, I mused, considering my current lack of tobacco, I could find a commercially viable way to extract all the nicotine she’s absorbed passively over the years from being in my Presence, or near it, or in a room I once sat in. That’s me Folks, exuding toxins like a poison toad in a pond, befouling all..

On reflection this is far too funny for mere correspondence, I should save my “A” material for my Sermon. Or I could just bung this whole rant up sans proof reading or editing or spelchek and call it ART.

or something like that..

PS; Wish me luck for the drive .

PPS; Doesn’t the condemned man get a last cigarette?

Part 2

Re: Re:EMAIL from a Master Poet.

We’re back, alive and still talking to each other.

Yeah come over and distract me further. maybe I’ll let you write today’s sermon.

PS

When you’re walking over here, please check out the gutters and bus stops for any good cigarette butts you see..

the condemned man will smoke recycled butts if necessary.

I know it’s been raining but it’s ok if they’re a bit damp.

I can always dry them out over a desk lamp or alternatively I’ll just boil them up into a health-some broth,

or “Bowl of Brown” as it used to be called

by country folk in the old days. Yes, nothing like a Bowl of Brown to keep you warm on a cold Winters’ morn..

Mmm. I just ate something Sugary to give me the will to go on..sweet synapses lighting up in the Pleasure Circuits of the Brain like glowing valves in an overheated switchboard

now i want more sugar!

More I say,

MORE!

MORE!

Tsk. No Self Control at all.

Looking forward to seeing you and the cigarette butts soon. In fact, you should leave now!

 Seriously tho, If yr’e walking from the Station, text n I’ll pick you up, even if you have no recycled tobacco products.

Now that (apostrophe)s Love! Hmm, the Sugar must be wearing off.. now i feel sad again. sighs, looks wistfully out of window.. Must be time for some Caffeine.

The Holy Trinity; Sugar, Nicotine, Caffeine

***

***

The Reverend Hellfire is..

etc.

***

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~ by reverendhellfire on May 7, 2017.

2 Responses to “Re: EMAIL from a Master poet”

  1. An excellent battle of will sir well played

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