When in your life have you felt most out of control?

well it could be now if I sit and i take a deep breath and i begin to type out the first thing which comes into my head in so doing bypassing the inner critic who perambulates on and on about sentence construction, semantics,getting it right and all the rest of the stuff that gets threaded into the gauze that is at once ridiculous and necessary...ridiculous in that it blocks true authenticity because i am of the opinion that if we were to write as i am writing now without showing this inner critic mercy then we would eventually write our way cathartically through our own shadow selves and then what would come out would be an outpouring of light and radiant clarity because this is the nature of the mind if you subscribe to the buddhist idea that we are born with buddhata which is a sanskrit word for buddha-nature which is what you see in a shiny-eyed neonate whom you cannot help but smile back to unless you are psycho...and the nature of buddhata is radiant clarity but it gets gunged up like a kitchen sink which has to cope with the flushing out of half-eaten porrige bowls on a daily basis  and when this  happens essentially as one long drip-feed introjection of values, attitudes  and general prejudicial and delusional crap emanating from significant and traumatising caretakers so that our early life from this point of view could be characterised as a slomo catastrophe even if we enjoyed the playgrounds and toys and cuddles and this warp and weft of introjections is what causes the gauze to form and aint that a bitch..........but that gauze is also necessary because the unformed goop that we actually are needs some sort of structuring yea verily as the plant requires a scaffolding of cellulose to grow firmly out of the ground and up towards the Sun...and without this structuring we are fucked webecome a sort of organic puddle requiring intensive institutionalised care from the good people who took the trouble to gauze themselves up so they could train as careworkers and effectively look after straitjacketed goopos like me and oooo here comes the porrage on the spoon heres the aeroplane wheres the hanger jonny boy open wide....dont want the fucking porrage gimme some fucking pasta....now you know that sort of food constipates you jonny we need you uncorked now dont we....I am fucking uncorked you moron thats why i am here you can slap your definitions of tourettes and fucking psychosis till the cows come home to roost but never never never we will fight them on the beaches we will mmmmmphggggmgmgmgm...could i have some salt on that porrage please...hey you're kinda cute...you a gemini?...yes?...well get capricious on me and put the spoon down and do an institutional volte-face and lets blow this loony bin...unpick the straps thats it....lets blow this institutional gauze and run into these beautiful fields of non-sense...guillimard...franco...castro...lake...peal of bells in wells in trells in gralls in thralls in spalls in............................................

I tend to find that I can let this sort of writing write itself after about three minutes of typing at speed without pause. Try it. Maybe it's the most fun you can have on your own. Maybe it's not!

But I recommend it as a way of liberating yourself from that not very tender voice which tells you that you must not write the sort of stuff like the dadaist blurge above because people will not like you.  And you can tell your inner critic to go take a flying fuck at a rolling donut without defensively saying "I do not care what others think of me." Of course you do, unless you are a psychopath. Thing is, I don't  think you will lose any friendships by showing yourself in this way.

Try the surreality check.  J xx