vividly visceral

I want to write about how my perception of writing has changed in the last year. Writing is one of the most important things in my life... a deep life thread....
I had a big shift towards the end of last year, a big change in perspective

For so long i felt paralysed with my writing.
I pictured myself at this precipice, a looming collosal free space
toes curled over the edge
I had these vague but overwhelming ideas of what i wanted my writing to be.
I didnt know exactly what I wasn't doing... but i knew how desperately I needed more

this is always how it goes for me, something I've become aware of, entrenched into my framework
such intense longing, such determination and drive for more from myself, to do more, to be more....
its such a beautiful pursuit, desire.
but there is a fine line between determination and desire for more... and a destructive conflagration of... a fear of inadequacy. i know that I need to straddle and balance this fine line with precision.
Because desire is my viscera. but fear of inadequacy is my hamartia. and it has no place in my beautiful framework.
but this point, this divorce of what i used to think was inexorable, is more to do with broader life views, and i cant do it justice here

So I spent so long paralysed at this precipice, so intimidated by all I wanted... needed my writing to be.

I had this conflicting dichotomy of imperatives. a need for what i create.... to be so raw, so unmasked, so free and not contrived, not fabricated, organic. visceral.
but also a need to create, at all costs.
a procreant urge.

And I think I was so intimidated by this need for my writing to be organic, without any kind of pretense or performance or even forethought .... free - i wanted it to be FREE...
i was so mired in this need, which had turned into a fear...
that i had obscured the idea of freedom (and the concept of freedom is so important to me. its a concept that ive always thought was fundemental. but this has been challenged a few times in my life)
I had bound freedom up in fears
just like i had bound desire up in fears

I was so overwhelmed, and mired, and paralysed, and intimidated,
that i never wrote anything

well i wrote. but it was a farrago of chaos, of frustrated creation and fervent cacophany.
it was unfinished poems from ephemeral fevered moments
it was an effusive deluge of diary writing
it was the ebb and flow and swell of my erratic inspiriation
scattered sporadically
within the framework of my vertiginous oscillating heart
my dichotomy of needs

i look back now and see those as true poems. for me then, it somehow wasnt enough.

i wanted my writing to be this epic, effortless, exhaustive expression of some colour of my consciousness
that i missed a million moments of colour and light, a twisting kallaedoscope of fevered moments

my dear friend and big inspirer Bea sent me this link to an interview with Lisa Mitchell, (who i've always judged far too harshly as an 'insipid indi' and didnt have much time for)
and she spoke about her fears of writing with expectation. and how she freed her writing and simply wrote, and let her songs be whatever they were going to be, good or bad.
it was exactly what i so desperately needed to hear and needed to understand.

writing freely is writing without fear and without expectation.

and somehow I just... unwravelled these twisty fears, all this complicated and toxic revery that had bound up my desires and my needs.

and I discovered a new level of freedom. or maybe i refound, relearned what freedom was to me.

I wrote completely without inhibition, expectation or requirement.

I wrote of a fevered moment, and i let my writing be shudderingly, orgasmically, vividly visceral.