March 25, 2014 by musehick
I have been writing some funny things, giving my sense of humour a chance to stretch its legs. I don’t know how effective it is (the rhyming stuff that is), if it is as good as the serious stuff I write, but it is necessary. Sometimes getting the misery out is like passing a bloody gallstone, and it gives me a little relief, sometimes. Sometimes though I feel like I am wallowing chin deep in the misery and it is not a place I like to be mentally or spiritually. And so …
Self realisation through dramatic vehicles is not, I suppose, an unusual thing. I have been reading the whole Ender series and the Shadow series too, and I just watched Philomena and the thing which strikes me and has been striking me repeatedly is the importance of family, which I knew already of course, but …
The doldrums beat loud and lay down a rhythm track over which I improvise various harmonies. Miserablism is great as a philosophy underpinning a lyrical style but as a way of life? It sucks balls.
Creativity is a great way of blowing the cobwebs away. I have been trying to get into ideas and away from feelings a little bit, but those inconvenient emotional icebergs keep rearing their ugly heads and I feel almost compelled to go all Titanic on their arse and sink myself into the freezing cold sea of depression melodrama.
Does this contradict the bluesman viewpoint? That the blues elevate me? Naw. Why would it? I think the whole situation may be dependent upon length of time enduring miserableness – for a short while during which you transmogrify the sadness into something beautiful, or at least interesting, it is endurable … as it drags its sorry arse over the demarcation line to become protracted then it becomes irritating. I do not like to see everything in a dreary washed out light, but finding the rose-tinted specs is like a wild goose-chase sometimes.
Editing beckons. New stories beckon. New poems beckon. Creativity will set everything right – it is the existential thermostat.