This is the first part of something I write from a place of shadow (as opposed to most stuff I put out which is more “balanced”) when life or experience puts me in that frame. I didn’t write this intending to share it with anyone. I will most likely not share any more of it for a long time, because if, while I'm writing it, I'm thinking about anyone else reading it anytime soon, then its purpose will be compromised.
Warning: Extreme violence, torture, sexual assault, suicide, and despair. I'm putting a link to a google doc so you don't accidentally scroll into it.
Wow that was visceral, gripping read. Thank you for sharing despite the work being personal.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing your response.
DeleteThis is perhaps the closest thing I've written to my personal definition of art; something done as a true expression or a seeking of catharsis, without thought of a relationship to an audience. I don’t actually consider purely expressive art to be superior to art created with others in mind, any more than I see cooking for oneself to be superior to cooking for someone else, but I do see it as a category.
Writing from a place of darkness, what I express is not sweet, rarefied, or uplifting, but instead savage, lustful, and existentially pitiless. If I wrote a direct expression from a place of light, it probably in its turn wouldn't be rational, explicable, or neatly formulated. Nevertheless such work will probably reach at least some recipients in ways that something created from a place of rational observation wouldn't necessarily be able to. I am glad that it reached you.