July Twenty-One: Internal Buzzing

I am rampant with energy. A creative and inspiring buzz runs through me--I have work in the morning, but somehow writing about this newfound peace feels more important. I have had a very long few weeks in every aspect of my life, and almost every moment has coalesced to be entirely worth it.
    True, there have been times these past few weeks where I have fucked up, or made an error, or acted rashly. There have been times these past few weeks where I have reacted poorly, and was, for a time, a total mess because of that. There were also times where I was put in situations where I could not react how I wanted to, and where I could not influence the outcome, and where everything felt stressful and useless.
    The length of these past weeks has impacted those around me, I know. I am both closer and further away, now, though which I am exactly depends upon who you ask. 


Lorde live was incredible. She burst onto stage, her giant hair fully in tact and glorious. She wore this stunning pants-suit over a tight black croptop piece, and opened with the abrasive and epic Glory and Gore, which she'd changed (along with most of her catalogue) to be more epic live. She would pause for entire seconds of silence between lines, and would make everyone hold their collective breath before she bellowed out the hook--

Oh, Oh
You could try and take us
Oh, Oh,
But we're the gladiators

--and then she'd pause, build up the crowd again, and then release a flooring belt of energy upon us all.
    It was glorious.

Later, she played a track called Easy, which I thought was a new track of hers, though it's actually from a collab with Son Lux from earlier this year, so I suppose I was half right. Still, I insisted to my girlfriend that it was totally a song from a post-Yeezus world, and all she said was "I knew you'd say that, and I totally agree."
    What blew my mind was that about half an hour later, there she was on-stage, killing it with a cover of Kanye's own Hold My Liquor, tastefully swapping out any use of the word "niggers" for "bitches". And she fucking owned the stage. I think people were shocked, but the crowd that knew Kanye (including myself) were kind of going wild. It really was the highest point of the concert, above even the abraisiveness of Easy; or the loud, layered version of Team; or the touching rendition of Ribs prefaced by a very real monologue about the exact fear of growing up which that song articulates. And Ribs is my favourite track of Lorde's.

The chandelier was disguised as a jellyfish for a while.

The chandelier was disguised as a jellyfish for a while.

The music gave me energy. The walk through the city, alone, at night, and the cancelled train, the late replacement bus, the ride home listening to a drunk annoy people on the phone with him. All of this gave me energy--it spoke to me and said: "Welcome back to reality." Because I've been gone a while, caught up in trauma and emotional misjudgement, and the stress of editing and still fucking it up. I think I've been caught up in so much self-inflicted uncertainty that I was on the brink of crashing.
    But no longer.

I'm ready to create again. Ideas for my book are coming together, and that excites me, because I was getting nervous there for a while about the blank slate my mind was giving me. I also feel ready to start writing short stories again--I think now that Isjaki is completed, and now that I have a good understanding of what I need to improve on, I can write again. Specifically, I want to improve in a way that makes me a better writer in general, but focus on what could make my novel a worthwhile endeavour (i.e. practice the third-person omniscient, and learn to tie threads of tales together). 

Because the threads of my own life seem to be tied off now pretty okay, and that is a good thing. This weekend particularly has captured and released and settled a great deal of emotions (each of those actions applied to specific and particular feelings). What has been done has been done. What has happened has happened. In some weird way, despite acknowledging that I made mistakes along the way, I feel like I would take none of the past couple weeks back, perhaps because the outcome of those mistakes has been relentlessly positive.
    So were they really mistakes? Considering the amount of backtracking I've done, and the circular path I've traced around some major aspects of my life, I would say yes. Because, give or take a bit of emotional trauma and a friendship or two, I am back at where I started to weeks ago. But I am better, and the specifics of my life are better, and cleaner, and my existence is somewhat less full of inescapable doubt than it had been up until the point where I started making mistakes. So I suppose my 'mistakes' worked out, in some messed up way, and I suppose that really is how things usually are, and I suppose I still find it kinda strange that the best way to improve is to fuck everything up for a little while, and then spend some time figuring out how to put it all back together.



Jonathan O'Brien