A Blogovella by Ezzie Dryar (Anne Martin)

Archive for December, 2014

3. Streams


waterwoman

Streams – StreamS of consciousness – few of us have only one at a time, constantly jumping from stream to stream, it’s lunchtime and I’m hungry, but I’m sitting here writing instead, I was up late last night working, and I’m so tired right now; I’d like to go back to bed, but it’s 1 pm and I’m pouring out the nectar of my streams for you – just touched on three that I’ve got going in my head – that’s three in addition to the usual one, the S-word, but the point of a stream of consciousness write is to take one on and concentrate on it alone, not pausing, not allowing yourself to deviate, but I deviate all the time, as you can see, just thought about that S-word again, listening to some music right now made me think of a friend of mine, wishing he was here because I’d like to talk to him right now – maybe I’ll phone him when I’m done with this – I’m a little down, don’t know why, and he always picks me up, just being with him, hearing his voice, I wonder what he’s doing right now, probably eating some lunch, like I should be, see how those streams keep coming back, dipping in and out; I’m not very good at sticking to one at a time, not like him – he’s so goddamn focused all the time, even while he procrastinates – I’m scatterbrained, probably because I’m always multitasking, thinking of one thing and doing another, I need to have him look at my computer again, since it’s been playing up lately, it’s my work and unfortunately my life, as I sit here alone in my office, contemplating streams, streams of thought, even streams of water, dipping my toes in on a warm summer day, splashing around, remembering long ago when he and I splashed around together, ahh, that brings me back to the S-word, you know I resolved not to use it this time, but I might have well have since I’ve mentioned it at least three times, I’m not going count them because I’m not allowed to look back, I’m still thinking about it, though, and that mountain stream in the sun of Colorado – those were the days, happy days, today’s days can be happy, too, when he’s around – I’m probably embarrassing him, too, as he will undoubtedly read this, and turn beet red as he does when he blushes, and he blushes easily, back to that stream, and lunch, yes, and of course (I lied) SEX.

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2. Runner’s High


lonerunner

It’s that time again, I’ve been working too hard and have been struggling without internet this week, or partly without at least, and my computer guru was out of town, I HATE DIAL-UP, and it hates me, all the sites that I frequent are really heavy on the graphics and that makes them slow, slow, slow, the way I like my sex, oops, did I slip that in again, I told you I had it on the brain, anyway, this one isn’t going to be a case of verbal masturbation, I was disappointed with the feedback about my last stream of consciousness extravaganza, I think that most people didn’t know the music or people I was discussing and, well, it just didn’t do it for them, but it did it for me, this is almost like a drug, just pouring out whatever is in my head, not stopping, not allowing the thoughts to settle before sprinting on, for it’s a sprint, can’t look back, it’s a runner’s high, the best kind, like you are floating above the ground, you are too tired to go on, but you keep running, going faster, you’re tired, but you know that soon you’ll pass the threshold, the second wind, it’s almost like a freak orgasm, you don’t know until after you’ve had it, you are concentrating so hard and then suddenly you are wet, wet not like sweat and it feels good you pass your second wind/orgasm and you wonder why you even considered stopping, you pick up the pace and the world seems to rush by you’re focused in the zone you are running your best split your best time and you push on faster and faster you consider another mile another lap you feel strong invincible you push harder your mind races you forget that you are running or were ever tired that problem you had it’s gone solved you are so focused maybe you remember last night’s sex wonderful I always come back to that I always want to come back to that it’s what keeps me going going through the day through my run even when I have no internet no man no time I’m still focused but not on running only one more mile then I can shower because whatever raw thoughts come to my head explode into being in the shower with the water dripping soap dripping shampoo wet and squidgy slick slippery like sex I’m back there again I never left I never leave I never want to leave the water runs and runs and my stories coalesce my brain is still running even as my body relaxes I’m wet oh so wet in the shower and it’s a warm comfy feeling and I never want it to end the ideas keep coming like adrenalin until I have a whole chapter bursting in my head, but I don’t have time, no time to write, working too much, too hard, I have to reconcile myself to pretending that I’ve been writing and the ideas go south where it’s warm without me, and I turn the water off, it’s over, I’ve crashed down, I’m spent, no sex for me today

 


1. Sex and Becket


craggy_stare_2

I thought I’d start a thread where I can jibber-jabber, blabber, anything I want to say at any time, I’m obsessed with sex, you know, especially at this time of day, before I go to bed, anytime really, but now mostly, ya know, it’s fun writing without periods, or caring about grammar (LET’S BAN PERIODS IN THIS THREAD) feel free to join me I don’t know where this is going either maybe we should ban all punctuation altogether maybeweshouldevengetridofspacestoo no that would be too hard to read but would anyone want to read this maybe we do need punctuation, but no periods, can’t stop the thought, can’t stop the war, can’t make the old younger, that’s Beckett, or a bastardized version at least, thank you Mr Bernstein, that’s Berio, who set the afore-mentioned Beckett, I like Berio, especially that piece, Sinfonia, it’s very sensual, sexual, everything comes back to love, to sex, to love and back again, cycle after cycle, a mixed bag, I’m obsessed with sex, I’ve said that before, so I say it again, more Beckett, I’m obsessed with sex, that’s why I like fantasy and erotica, you know, writing like this is like having sex, you go on and on, trying things a little differently back and forth waiting for the explosion, but not yet, you’ve got to keep going, the writing gets more urgent, intense, you repeat phrases you like again and again, over and over, but I’ve said that before, and I’m in a Beckett frame of mind no more punctuation it gets faster now moving faster faster moving like my Danish pancakes when I’m really hungry thank you Mr Berio Bernstein Boulez I like his performance better than Bernstein’s but we are talking about Beckett’s frame of mind no my mind not his but he’s in the frame of it along with Berio and fantasy I like fantasy I live in a fantasy world and am obsessed with sex didn’t I say that before so I say it again more Becket it’s really moving now rollercoaster ride that is not Beckett but he’s in the frame still and so is Berio almost typed a comma there can’t have them yet haven’t climaxed yet it’s coming soon almost now it’s all about Beckett yes and a lot like Joyce where did he come from they are both Irish aren’t they but Berio didn’t set any Joyce and besides his name doesn’t begin with B I’ve never said that before it’s not one of the rules Cage set Joyce Finegan’s Wake that’s a funeral party I like parties but not as much as sex and Beckett¬† I’m still waiting for Godot he’s coming I’m not not yet at least soon have I said that before no say it again I’m obsessed with sex it’s time for what I’m talking to myself now there are two of me better for sex only if one of me is male maybe not maybe it’s time for Beckett instead I’ll send him to look for Godot he must know where he is he created him where was I so there is an audience more Beckett via Berio I love Beckett and Faulkner he’s not a B writer but he fits because he’s just as crazy as the rest of them like me crazy about sex words for sex sex in words sex in the production of words the sensual sound of sexy syllables sewn together like man and woman yes, that’s it, I can use commas again, it’s relaxing, easing, but still moving, still Berio with a little Beckett, hardly moving, Joyce and Cage have gone, Faulkner’s just a memory, like my Danish pancakes, like the tulips that grow in my garden, barely moving now, soft waves, hardly a ripple, I’m done with Beckett, only Berio remains and even he is going with my last words, thank you Mr Boulez

Berio – Sinfonia (third movement)