I’m not done

Well, if I’m not going to do any work on my novel or that pilot I started a week ago, then I’m gonna have to do SOME sort of writing…so here I am again.

Is this thing a crutch? Is it because there never really is a finished product?

Could be. I don’t like being a finished product.

Ew. Just the thought of it makes me disgusted.

I hate that word even–finished.

It is so…FINAL.

I don’t want to be a finished product.

I don’t want to be a product.

Can I just be a process?

That is all I am anyway. Modern science has proven it. None of my cells live forever. They constantly reproduce and die. Reproduce and die. I’m a process of ever-changing cells. I’m not a finished product.

I’m not even finished when I die. I will be a process then. My body will begin a new process of decomposition. I will be an eternal process.

I like to write as a conversation. A dialogue. Not as working towards an end.

I like all art that works in this way. I don’t like art that works for an end.

Maybe I’m too idealistic.

But I don’t like endings. I don’t like finishing. I don’t like finalities.

I avoid them.

I don’t drag on a process that is time to graduate or change or evolve to something new. Stasis is just as bad as ending. both of them do not involve movement.

I need movement. A flow of energy. I’m not static right now. I’m moving. My fingers move faster and faster the more I get to the deeper voice of who inside of me is speaking. My mind right now is moving as fast as my wrists were earlier this afternoon while I was doing double-unders at Crossfit.

I am so NOT static right now. Even though the lower half of my body is firmly planted in theis comfy chair. So firmly that it is as though nothing exists below my heart right now.

Nothing below my heart.

I feel like that a lot.

Nothing exists below my heart.

My heart’s constant beating. That never stops or ends and always flows in the PROCESS of keeping me alive.

The PROCESS of living.

Then I stop. writing. and breathe. A big breath.

And blink.

And interchange poetry and prose.

Because that is how I write.

And that is how my mind works. I will brag myself up right now in that I think know that I play hopscotch along my brain’s hemisphere when I am in the midst of writing.

And when I’m acting.

When I’m allowed to act.

I don’t do that much anymore.

But that is a process, too, is it not?

God, I hope so. A spiral process. Of new and old and familiar and unfamiliar of easy and hard of happy and depressed of smiles and tears.


All at once.

At the same time.

Making rainbows in my soul.

And on my computer screen.

A prismatic process of shining my light.

and seeing my colors.

the colors of my soul rainbow.

process. and change. and grow.

But never finish. never stop. Never die. Never End.


About heathencomehome

question marks & ellipses
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