I get it now.

I feel I have to over-indulge in the human experience. 

And when I've had my fill, and cannot take anymore, my mouth waters and I regurgitate descriptives, locations, character bios.  I keep purging until I taste the gastro-intestinal acid of the last word.

And the cycle starts all over again. But I'm not sure I'm very fond of this. Perhaps my process is going too slow...should I speed up the binge? 

Or rather, it's about taking time to savor every human experience, allowing it to roll around in my mouth, slowly breaking down into something that I can swallow, but leave on the taste buds of my mind to be savored yet again at a later time. 

Isn't that what we're supposed to do?

It's hard. Hard to savor. Life is going at break-neck speed. Naturally? No. It's forced. 

And so is my Sci-Fi novel. Trying too hard to make it sound like something I'm not quite feeling. Maybe the language, maybe too much Science Fiction for me to write about. Maybe I'm overanalyzing it. Either way, it doesn't feel write--right. 

Fight back for the natural urge.

What comes natural? The Call. I flow in and around the story, adding in pieces of me like a puzzle as I go. And they all fit. I almost seduce myself in a way...wanting to believe the words, wishing for it...

I savor The Call. I vomit my Sci-Fi. Which is better for me?

But I digress.

Almost have a new tattoo figured out... Going along the side of my body from left hip to maybe just under the breast. Or over? Dark, gothic roses. Only black, maybe a deep purple...mauve... I need thorns. This is how I'm feeling. Not depressing, beautiful and imperfect. Delicate and piercing. 

~Pusher. Of. Pens.~