4-in-1

Discovering writing as a drug

There it was again! That totally undiluted feeling of freedom. He remembered the first time he had felt it, when he had learned to cycle in a straight line. And later on, when he was rowing his dinghy on his own for the first time. He had felt how its shape had changed, after his dad’s weight lifted out of it, and he simply flew across the water with the white plastic oars sparkling salt water. He was anode and cathode, electric in self-containment, encapsulated in the physicality of the movement and the speed. But the hit, was in the gut. And here it was again! An old forgotten friend transformed and electrified. A first time enhanced in a pulsing spring flood of gifts: an electrical current from the neurotransmitters penetrating every cell, self-assuredness, imaginative word spins – writing the body electric with fire sparklers everywhere. The jaw and back tight with happy tension, the chewing gum churning to a tasteless lump between his back teeth. He was fireworks, the first time.

Discovering writing as a drug

There it was again! That totally undiluted sense of independence that span his life in a punctuated fashion, only present intermittently. The first memory was when he as a boy had just learned to cycle and his tires victoriously slashed the ground as he sped down a muddy hill. And later on, on his own in his rowing boat, programmed not to fail by his diligent father: He had felt how the dinghy’s outline had changed after the exuberant and wobbling mass of his father had lifted out. Having lost the mass the laws of physics allowed the boy to simply fly across the loch bringing sweeps of sparkly salty drops into the air. He was his own battery; part positive electrodes, part negative electrodes. Electric in self-containment, encapsulated in a sensuality as dense as the part of a classical piece of music lifted by the hurriedness of violins. The collision between self-belief and abilities evaporated with every stroke, it was like being flushed out of a narrow and confined passage. And here it was again! An old forgotten playmate transformed and electrified. His old programme was enhanced in a pulsing spring tide of presents: nor-adrenalin penetrating every cellular enclosure of his body bringing self-confidence, imaginative word orders, multiple layers and unusual colloquialism available for interpretation. Throughout the main part of this time writing, he was reaching for brilliance. His writing was as fast as talking, and he only felt the crassly commercial pop music aimed at the very young churning out of his radio as a background hum of happy crackling electricity. His self was not divided into parts anymore, the tastelessness for life that had followed him for years had gone - zapped by electricity – life was sweet. There were no more teething problems, the premolars had fallen out and left him with a proper bite. He was a fizgig, and it’d better last a lifetime.