There’s a certain madness that comes with devotion to the written word. I’m wholly, irrationally obsessed with them. Words wrap themselves around my thoughts, cunning and seductive, whispering sweet nothings about the meaning of life. They’re also on about the importance of rhythm in all things, however dull they may seem individually.
But words alone don’t really do much to feed the soul. They need a partner in crime, that being life itself. With all its messy nuances, contradictions, paradoxes, misunderstandings, and outright lies, my life’s misadventures are where my diction obsession kicks into full gear. It’s a twisted kind of love affair. More than just the words, I’m obsessed with all the glorious crap that life throws our way — the shadows lurking in the corners, the fleeting observations that you only catch when you’re not looking, the mysteries that get shrugged off in a half-hearted “eh, we’ll get ‘em next time.”
So, do you see something worth writing about? If not, you’re not looking hard enough. As I see it, life is a mystery novel penned by a drunk author who lost the plot halfway through and decided, “Screw it, let’s throw in a talking dog.” But squint just right, and you might start to see the breadcrumbs — those little hints of something more lurking beneath the surface. Once you do, well, welcome to the obsession club. Membership is free, but the mental toll is hell.
You see, we live in a universe of thought. The world isn’t so much what you make of it as it is what you’re willing to lie to yourself about until it sticks. Well, if I’m going to lie to myself, let’s make it entertaining as possible. So, I dive into this twisted writing obsession with some haphazard deployment of beat, rhyme, melody, and time. My goal is to wring some meaning out of the otherwise dull, gray sludge that life can sometimes be. Sometimes, it works. In between the lines and the beats, there are glimmers of something worth clinging to for future perusal.
Still, trying to make sense of this tangled mess of words and life, deep down, I know it’s a fool’s errand. But what else am I going to do? Sit back and let the world pass me by? No chance. I’ll keep reading into everything, listening for hidden melodies in the silence, seeking rhythm in the discordant, and appreciating the time in the timeless.
So, yeah, I guess this may be a certain obsession. But it’s pursued with good intent, to make something good out of a total mess. Plus, if it keeps me sane, or at least gives me the illusion of sanity, that’s a bonus. On this rapidly spinning dizzying globe of ours, I’ll take what I can get.
~ Amelia Desertsong
