Nocturne #13 – Just Random
What happens when the desire to write becomes a physical need, but the mind is blank? This is a story about a dialogue with two devils sitting on my shoulders, about deleted paragraphs that "were better," and about the strange calm I find in accepting my own chaotic process.
Right now, I suddenly felt the urge to write a Nocturne, although I have no idea what to write… I just wanted to write, nothing more. There’s nothing spinning in my brain. My tired body is inert, but the pads of my fingers still manage to clatter on the keyboard. My brain, burned out and miserable from a trillion thoughts, clumsily gives commands to my fingers — and my fingers obediently type random combinations of words that come from God-knows-where… It’s become such a natural need for me to write that it’s almost like taking a piss before bed.
Right now, I’m sitting at my computer with the usual discomfort, thinking I should organize my personal calendar, which is lit up with tasks like a rainbow, and which I sometimes betray. I scold myself for it.
Tomorrow, when I’m awake and refreshed, I’ll probably read this and think, “Scold? WTF? Am I an idiot?” Maybe I’ll edit it, or just delete it entirely. No, no, I don’t scold myself. It’s more like I mock myself, I persecute myself. You know how people have a devil and an angel on their shoulders? Well, sometimes I think I have a rotten devil sitting on both shoulders, and they’re both having a blast with me, bullying me. Still, somehow, I love them both. At some point, I’m letting go of the fact and gradually falling in love with my own vicious side.
I just typed out a huge paragraph and deleted it soon after… The text was about how background music affects the moment of writing, and how each passing track drags my mood around like a drunken kite. And that’s exactly why today’s Nocturne turned out to be such exceptional garbage! (Yeah… that deleted version was better.)