Binge-watching . It’s what we do. part 1
Written by Agent 47 on October 28, 2017
Binge-watching this show was real-time streamcast on September 24th, 2017. I was in the midst of a Luke Cage season one binge in my spare time. The playlist played on this day was inspired/influenced by the Netflix original programming of the MCU. This post however will be continuing an ongoing recollection regarding writing, and the things that can stop it.
So where did I leave off … .. Oh yes, Los Angeles.
Now just prior to my arrival in Los Angeles and for the early several months I was there, I was writing as if my hair were on fire and the more short stories or essays I wrote the better chance I would have of stumbling across a bucket of water. Just mad prodigious … for a time. A time that alas, would not last. Although this was far from a simple drought of ideas, or the creative malignancy of boredom and being de-inspired. This was actually more akin to a moral crisis.
For some reason, and with the process of writing forcibly having me look back, I simply cannot recall. What was the reason, or might have been. It truly eludes my faculties of reminiscing about what has occurred. It’s a funny and confounding thing about memory.
It can be easily questioned and put in doubt. Even with the surety level busting the meter, the longer one sits and ponders the more one can begin to wonder. What of this occurrence was objectively real? What;of what actually happened, is being completely altered by current emotional state, and the emotional state that is triggered upon bringing this file of time back to the front? What is missing from my recollection due to perceived significance of some events and not others.
Hell, I could just continue ruminating of this all night, but the point is I don’t remember how it all happened. Binge-watching
Looking back from the vantage point of the now, all I can recall and what it seems like from here is. One moment I was writing a lot. I kept at least 3-4 projects going at a time and tried to crank out 5-7 pages a day, and mind you it should be pointed out-
(wait, should it? Or is this some slick way of my vanity wanting to be noticed. LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME! Please pat me on the back. It cries out to the empty aether of no one reading or listening to any of this. Alas, I’ve already come this far and already brought it up, I shall simply continue)
that all this writing is taking place – BY HAND. Something, a practice that used to be called longhand. Which is to write by hand. Taking pen or pencil to literal paper. Everyday, without fail. Even if I was just mindlessly rambling in a “just to keep writing” kind of exercise. Those days are necessary to write. A purge of the system if you will. Then the next moment I was not.
I was struggling with what it all meant. All these words, though entertaining, were largely … well pointless, to some degree. What was the purpose to what I was investing so much time. There were enormous issues, questions and dilemmas that were vexing the human condition as a whole. Not just myself, as an individual. A personal question arose, what to do about it.
and because thirst should always be addressed.