A Pledge

This i still love to read over and over. I wrote it to kick me back into writing and it just poured onto the page. I think i bought my typewriter shortly after this, which is great an annoying, since i love writing on it, but it makes it a bitch to edit and post stuff now. Looks like the fun fun of transcription is in the future.

Regardless, enjoy this. And for maximum recreation of the original thought, read it twice, initially normally, and the second time as fast as possible.

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What is it I’m waiting for? This is supposed to be the moment in time that the world’s velocity alone should be enough to carry everyone forever towards the target of happiness. That the chaos and swirl of life is so naturally directed towards greatness there is no way that an individual can be left out of it. In these times no one is supposed to be left behind, there is no reason to have motivation of your own, Who Needs It! Look around, the flashing lights, the chattering computers communicating at the speed of light. The pure force of the life around every individual is driving us towards something. Yet even with this supposed occurrence I find myself sitting stagnant, once again. Why, what is it that i am missing? What am I waiting for? Is there some pneumatic chute in my room, or jacked into my head, through which I am waiting for my blue letter to arrive and come shooting into my consciousness? Do these signals even exist! Aside from the evangelists who are “called” and suddenly thrown forcefully onto their own life paths, does anyone ever claim a single precision moment of life as changing them? A distinct time, when you are drinking your coffee or eating your McDonalds, when you are blessed and enlightened as to what will make you happy. No, it doesn’t happen, everything that makes a person happy has been built on, constructed piece by piece, experimented and assembled until that moment that it finally opens the lock you have constructed bearing forth the satisfaction that was contained within.

Yet even knowing this, I still sit here. Not-so-patiently waiting for something to blindfold me spin me around put the bat in my hand and shove me, swinging, into the future that will make me happy. And once again the impatience of waiting for this intervention has, ironically, driven me to one of the things that gives me that happiness; writing. Perhaps fate is telling me something, perhaps I am simply so content in my waiting that I prefer the slothful anticipation better than the action I’ve waited so long to receive.

This time I don’t want to let it go, I want to grab hold and swing my piñata bat instead of leaning on it as a waiting cane. This is for you Jay. This is to keep that side of you alive. That side that actually isn’t a side, but all of you, it is your essence. I intend to foster that essence, grow it and use it. I will be heard, and I will purge and spew and drink again simply to ensure that no white page goes unsoiled, because this drivel is not the fluid most find running through their gutters, oh no, this drivel is the quintessence, the undercurrent that binds every part of you together, the river of green water the boats of job, friends, and psyche slosh around on as they cascade through your internal sewers. I will write what you know, I will write what you don’t know, I will simply write to forcibly purge you, to bleed you like a thousand surface scratches on the tops of your feet. And you will scream and tear, and smile with every step, feeling the pain of that letting. And from this point on, every step will be a reminder that this life is real, and that there is no waiting. There never was, and there never will be again.


-Ian Hunter