Words, when you are truly possessed by them, they seep through every orifice in your body until you can’t open your eyes or ears without them jumping out at you from graffitied walls or song lyrics. You are bound in linguistic matrimony and there is no other companion sweeter than that which is sapped from your own mind’s keg.
“Every once in a while, but not often, you can sit down and write a thing that you know is going to stand people’s hair on end for the rest of their lives- a perfect memory of some kind, like a vision, and you can see the words rolling out of your fingers and bouncing around for a while like wild little jewels before they finally roll into place & line up just exactly like you wanted them to…” - Hunter.S.Thompson
My hair has stood since the first time I read this passage. It rolled into place form me. The will for writing, the addiction of it, you become a feigned for those brief, explosive moments. Just when you think you have lost your touch, it slides its hand up your leg and reassures you with one pure sentence. Purity. That’s why you do it, for the little wild jewels amongst the rough.
