65
In art therapy, the writer continues to write:
Trent Reznor of NIN once said in an NPR interview:
“My life has been many examples of shortsighted goals that I thought would fix things. If there's something broken inside me, if there's a hole in there, I thought if I could just write a good song someday, then I'd be OK. You know, if I could just get a record deal, or if I could just be onstage in front of people I'd never seen before and be validated by them. I feel very fortunate that I've been able to achieve those things, and there have been moments of feeling good about it, but it didn't fix things, you know? It wasn't the solution to me feeling spiritually complete or whole.”
So too, have I sought to fix myself with art. I’d scorned art therapy like it was a cosmic joke, and responded by turning myself into a vessel for said cosmic joke. I turned the outward extension of my disgust inward, the ultimate hypocrite. Though maybe I understood logically that publishing a book, winning an award, becoming famous, wouldn’t solve my problems, it seemed that by its surplus it would make me happier than I was in my current state.
But attempting to make myself happier with art is like trying to grow a garden in the middle of a whirlpool. I’m left soaking, choking, clutching petals, wondering why the garden won’t grow, why everything I create is torn to shreds by emotional turbulence.
It’s not even that it won’t make me happy - it’s that if I continue to -
She pauses and looks at the nightflower, its petals curling up toward the simulated moon. She’s disgusted by what she’s written. She feels like sobbing and laughing at the same time. She hasn’t had a drink since she came to the space station
66
“Oh give it a rest, Swanson,” said the overweight man in the purple suit. “You’re taking this case too seriously.”
“But this case is directly tied to some kind of traumatic event I’ve had in my past. I MUST WORK ON THIS CASE.”
“I’m serious, Swanson, you’re banned from working on this case.”
Swanson goes to a bar and has a shot of whiskey and a revelation. Swanson has a gun that needs no safety trigger. He ponders life in the mirror above the bar and has a flashback of his beloved, who is conveniently dead. Swanson’s dark tragedy is juxtaposed by his comedic side-kick, Julius. Julius is skinny and always getting into trouble and talks too much, that rascal.
Julius went and talked where he wasn’t supposed to, damn it! A young thing who once looked at Swanson for more than half a second got tied to the train tracks! Swanson must put on his trenchcoat and wear the dark sunglasses. Swanson fights in cinematic. His gun never runs out of bullets, because he’s a fucking hero.
Swanson saves the day, per usual. He kisses the young thing and tells her that Swanson walks alone. No loose ends for Swanson. The overweight man in the purple suit forgets he ever told Swanson not to work on that case.
Oh, that Julius, he got his hand stuck in the ice-box again!
67
Earlier I said that people write for love or money, but I was thinking too narrowly. There are, of course, multiple reasons that people write. They want to relay an idea, to cure an aching boredom, or for the sake of jouissance. They want to write because it feels like picking off a scab. They write because they want to pick up girls, or as revenge for that creative writing teacher in 2nd grade who told them they lacked imagination. People write because it’s a more interesting hobby than sitting around drinking in a bar, or they desperately want to drink in a bar but are being held back by their social anxiety and think they can write about drinking in a bar and live vicariously through words.
I keep trying to distill ideas down into these core concepts, to flow back into one source, but perhaps I’m looking in the wrong place. If I start a core concept that is fundamentally flawed, every idea built upon that concept must be flawed as well. I should be more careful before I think anything.
Note: This is part of my Psycho-Surreal Memoirs Series. You can find more by looking through my feed. They're designed to be able to be read in any order.
You can find me on Twitter, Facebook, and my website. You can also buy one of my books here.
Other Posts You May Be Interested In:
Crystalmouth [Short Story]
Life Supports Art [Writer's Journal]
The Destructive Power of Art Therapy [Psycho-Surreal Memoirs]
Meditations by Marcus Aurelius [Favorite Books]
What the Fuck, Autumn, Seriously? [Psycho-Surreal Memoirs]
The Search for the Perfect Leather Jacket
A Late Night Anarchist Grocery List And Other Notes [Writer's Journal]
Sunny Outside, Storm Inside [Writer's Journal]