I haven't written in this space for a while (forgive me, father, for I have sinned). I wish I could say that this is because I have been writing in my journal intensely and deep into a writing project - but I haven't written or read anything, recently, not really. I've been dealing with an intensity of anxiety and depression in the past month, with accompanying insomnia - most likely catalyzed by the project of publishing, by the feelings incurred by having a deeply personal book out soon in the world and realizing it will be critiqued probably, maybe, very personally, that there will not be a perceived boundary between what is in the book and who I am. An anxiety and depression also triggered by my feeling I don't have any psychic space in which to attempt to write. Sometimes I worry I will die before I will write the books I feel compelled to write. Sometimes I worry that my years of being a productive writer are somehow over, and yet I don't feel I have really written anything yet, that I need to if possible become stronger as a human being in order to write the books I really want to write. Sometimes I worry my happiness and ability to exist as a thinker and a writer in the world is impossible in capitalism.
(Lately I have wanted to take everything I have ever written and somehow screenprint the words JUVENALIA over it. I still don't feel I've written anything. All that matters, in a way, is what I'm working on now, which is nothing, so I am nothing. People tell me about books I have written, but to me that's like being told of a meal I have eaten. It's all carcasses to me. There is some dumb mythology that this suggests the potential for genius, to feel dissatisfied with everything that's come before. This is absolutely incorrect. This is not a marker of potential genius. This is the sign of a depressive. Writers have written lately, about the difficulties of being a writer while being published. This is true. Publishing and writing are completely different phenomenon, in some ways diametrically opposed. But how about the impossibility of being a depressive who is published?)
This morning I was supposed to write. I am supposed to be working on an essay that I last was able to sit and think about about a week ago. The essay at this point is entitled: "YOU CAN BE STUPID AND SAD AT EXACTLY THE SAME TIME." The title is a play on what the critic Pauline Kael wrote about the film Wanda, maybe my favorite film of all time, written and directed by the actress and wife of Elia Kazan, Barbara Loden. I think the essay will be about walking, and solitude, and muses. I've been dreaming about this essay for a while, but I worry, like I worry about Heroines, that it is in too depressive of a mode. That all I seem to write about lately is solitude and depression. Anyway. I will attempt to write it - an essay, an attempt - and then perhaps I will not essay again for a while. I have all of these essay ideas for Slapping Clark Gable - but I'm unsure whether it's safe for me to write so personally, so soon after Heroines. I think I need to erect some sort of boundary, to channel behind a character, a not-quite-me. Does this make sense to anyone? One writes what one wants to write but it's weird to think of how one will be perceived in the process of being read.
This AM I read the closing statements of Pussy Riot on n+1. They are the most inspiring essays I've read in a while. Has everyone read them? When I think of Pussy Riot I think of still how dangerous the girl is, the girl who speaks too loudly, the punk girl, the feminist girl, the angry girl. How she is disciplined, contained.