Speaking of terrible first efforts … yes, one does have to start somewhere when wanting to write something.
But – many times, unfortunately, when I entertain the thought of journaling (or, hopefully, writing something more sophisticated, so to speak), I end up not writing about the deluge of thoughts in my head because they appear to be endless and virtually unmanageable to me. There are countless nuances, conflicting perspectives, anachronistic moments related in certain ways but not others, myriad sensations of varying flavors and intensities, heightened shivers and quivers I believe I will be unable to shape into words, …
Do you see my dilemma?
I do not feel exactly as though my problem is that I lack the set of vocabulary necessary to explain myself, as I would to describe the various details pertaining to the texture, taste, and so on of a food product as food tasters do. I simply become so enchanted (and somewhat pleasantly overwhelmed) by the experiences I wish to document or the thoughts that I wish to transcribe that I end up – as my friend’s therapist used to say – “mindfucking myself into paralysis.”
It occurred to me to record myself talking it out. Then it occurred to me that I’d never get around to transcribing the recording because it would be too tedious and I’d lack sufficient motivation.
Is it a shame? Or is the experience itself, in real time and later in fading memories, enough, or even worth more than anything words could possibly convey?
I suppose it would depend on whom you ask.
But listen: how exactly is one supposed to verbally depict mind-blowing multiple and shared orgasms and the connection felt and built with someone you are beginning to fall for? The intense mutual gazing into each other’s eyes while you caress each other, tickling, causing shivers, quick smirks lasting milliseconds, childlike giggling, a lover playing with your hair, a warm pink glow on satiated cheeks, plump seductive lips, dark and soft stubble, adorable dimples, an electrical pulse through the middle of your torso that reemerges every time you replay that one instance…?
I can’t do it.
And, listen, I’ve read erotica and overwrought Victorian novels and I can confidently tell you that it cannot be done. Nothing you can write will compare to what one feels in a moment like the one I just described. There is no way to transform sensations and feelings accurately into words – you can’t even write them so they will simultaneously coexist, because writing and reading are linear processes, and there is thus no way to transmit all coexisting experiences together, in their full intensity, uniqueness, sheen, magic (or a less hackneyed word).
No way.
Writing, alas, is a terribly limited and limiting art, system, and process. Verbal language cannot compare to that of the body and soul. As a writer, this is something I lament.
If anyone believes she/he can prove me wrong, I welcome your efforts!
