"We were somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the desert when the drugs began to take hold." This first powerful and gripping sentence from page 1 of Fear and loathing in las vegas by Hunter Thompson is so compelling and intriguing that I couldnt help but want more. Recently Ive developed an interest in the writing style of the late crazed wordsmith. His drug enduced tales are some of the finest Gonzo journalism youll find. Mainly because he invented it. Its a mix of fiction and non fiction that hones in on the truth of such conditions and the skewed perspectives of the times with brutal force and incists you come along for the ride. Im not much of a writer but I enjoy the communication abilities of a good doctor of the written word. Words form concepts and concepts form intention and story and plot and so on and so on into the human mind. At my level of experience I think a good writer tells a story that pulls you in rather than gently pushes. Whether that story is fact, fiction, small or big it must be a vortex into the abyss of the specific experience. I find Hunters work very interesting. Its well written and keeps the mind turning. As shocking as some of the material is the truth of it is hard to miss.
Ive written many words, had many conversations, and studied many subjects. Some of which to a major depth that many people have yet to realize is available if only they will take the path. Writing is one that I find increasingly more fascinating. Its a field that is far from impossible to enter into. All manner of creatures have made it their playground. Writing, as all manners of creation are, is a tool that effects change in the universe. Another way to flap our wings as a butterfly effects the winds. Its another tool for reaching outward with our consciousness. Asking god for more feedback so that we may wake up and remember who and what we are once again. With this realization I ask myself. Why write? What am I seeking to remember? Its these very questions that makes me realize Ive already begun to forget. Waves of waking up and falling asleep to myself are like ghosts wandering the hallways of a creepy old house.
2 Weeks ago the dots of a story began to connect in my mind. I played with many ideas that struck me as powerful and significant. I still wonder why this story feels so compelling to me. How do I tell it? Its so huge and Im amateur at story telling. Heck I dont even read books and have never attempted to even read a small story in a comic book. Is this mode of thinking because a society gone wrong? Or is it the process of consciousness waking up to itself. If reading to gain information was so important then why dont I seem to have that capacity? As our universe expands and consciousness grows it becomes increasingly more complex. This means you dont have to travel as far to receive the same amount of information. Could this be why people these days dont read? Information travels faster and stronger without the need for decoding written words. Listening and seeing are much faster modes of data download. Writing seems to be an ancient form we still need to keep around. Yet it does not evolve at the same rate as other mediums. You could say the same thing about our bodies and minds. Though our bodies still evolve they evolve at a much slower rate than our minds. We shift identities moment to moment as new information is assimilated and we discover something new within.
So how does a drugged psychotic writer develop a style of writing that makes him a functioning story teller? Did he go to school and find good form? Or did he simply apply himself to projects and studied his favorite writers and a style emerged from dark shadows. I expect any good writer would. This is not a science its an art. Just as life is not a science its an art. Though the majority of evangelical scientists would disagree. Words spill from the lips of gods. We seem to be able to choose which gods we want to hear. And thus is art.
So here I am. I find myself writing to you, this blog, the universe - asking for the starting point. But I already know, its here now. Life is staring me in the face and it hears me instantly. Giving me the next step if I will only open up to it. I hear a voice. "Look at your life man. Look at the opportunities your being given. Your growing, it takes time. Have faith you are being guided and let the need for it to be done now go. The journey is the point, not the finish line. When you get to the finish the next race begins." Ok. Ill walk this path, through the thick of the quick sand. Trying not to resist and sink. But stay on the surface and move forward into the unknown depths of another creative outlet. I wont need to find my way, like a seductive temptress it will be unveiled and ready to have me.