Something Strange Bubbling Up

By all accounts of normal humanity I shouldn’t feel as good this morning as I do. Last night I went and bought a 750 ml bottle of Wild Turkey, and drank about a quarter of it. I don’t drink much, and rarely drink bourbon. Maybe the reason I feel better than I expected to is because I also smoked a bowl of weed. Maybe it’s also because I put down about 700 words in my notebook about my new upcoming novelization of the madness in my life for the last 2 years.

But I do feel great. I feel like leaping around the room. I woke up this morning feeling better than I have in perhaps three and a half years. The last time I can even suggest to myself that I’ve felt this way was when I left my wife and began my life on my terms. Unfortunately, much of the potentially pure glee that I could have felt upon starting my life with my real and true and love partner was countered by the fact that my children were being ripped from my arms at the time. That’s not to say that there wasn’t glee, because I’ve never been happier than when I’m with her. But this isnt just being happy, this is being in a good mood, a great mood, which is another thing entirely.

Something Mr. Dylan wrote:

Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of you.
You were trying to break into another world
A world I never knew.
I always kind of wondered
If you ever made it through.
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of you.

Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me.
If I was still the same
If I ever became what you wanted me to be
Did I miss the mark or
Over-step the line
That only you could see?
Seen a shooting star tonight
And I thought of me.

I feel wonderful. Do you understand? I am a writer. I am a man. I am a lover and a father and a thinker. I feel reborn. I don’t know what’s come over me. It must have been the weed.

In a way, it’s completely not right for me to make the death of Hunter S. Thompson into something about me. But what else can I do, really? Isnt everything about me? Your world may not revolve around me, but mine does, if I’m honest about it, and I do choose honesty. The beauty of this human truth is that, by acknowledging that my world does indeed revolve around me, I embrace those around me who really mean something to me, to my world. And I know them because of who they are to me but I love them because I know them. Love of self and love of others isnt a mutually exclusive proposition. I can have both. And I do.

Part of what is making me so fucking happy is the realization that I can speak the truths of life. Perhaps I’ve realized that I don’t need to (since I no longer can) rely on others to speak the truth for me. How energizing was it for me to read Mr. Thompson write about the truth in politics or people or sport or fear or hate? Very. Well, he’s not here to do that anymore. But I have this sudden burst of FAITH IN HUMANITY, that even amongst the hate-mongers and the blind faith followers and the lost hopes in this world, I KNOW there are a few who can see and feel and hear and smell and write. And this gives me hope, and this brings me happiness.

I’ve had one of the best 12 hours of my life just now, and I’m not about to throw myself off the train. I’m going to write more often. I’m going to not be afraid to make myself feel good, more often. I’m going to speak my mind and fucking take names. I’m going to live my life my way. If you like it, then invite me into your orbit. If not, fuck off, because I’m righter than you. I’m writer than you. And my path to the truth will have its casualties, at least in my world.

- posted by seanmh @ 10:25 AM