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Raw Literature: Publishing A Literary First

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Essay by Elliot Lyngreen, guest author & flash writer at Carrot Ranch.

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I have been given the honor and opportunity by the inspirational Charli Mills of Thee Ranch (Carrot Ranch Communications, where flash is the fiction) to talk about my story of my first published piece of literature Inextricable Knot in some Raw Literature here. Sweet. Let’s rock.

Well, the idea still comes to me every morning. With highs from the radio like Finch (Bury Me) inside a vehicle, the morning commute crowds. There are many ways it could turn. Our destinations feel the presence and the world anymore, the highway multitude, speeding that could end up on the stage of AGT and reinforcing all the hearts with our performance. Or…

Yes, is there anything better than a road trip? Gripped to the wheel, is there anything better than driving a vehicle with one of your favorites reeling ears? And such emotions truly and equivocally warming, skin surfacings and porcupine dreams all instantly percolate alive? Make you feel ready to be thee great wave? That is how it begins anyway. And it began so long ago, dreaming to turn off any one of the exits fleeting for another destination than where we always end up; turn to where the world reads me as some tremendous book in the blast of an anthem. I truly wanted to capture that current, and that flow, and that sensation of traveling the road; and for…ever wanted it to open my book. But the way it begins to be imagined, turns in yet at a totally different destination.

By serendipity once along a road trip many moons ago when I was like 20 and with a few buds coming home from Syracuse, we were flying in this pouring rain in the middle of a fleet of semis all going 91 miles an hour and I thought THIS! THIS. This is it! I got chills and such heavy inspiration thinking, this is thee exact place the world goes now. So much metaphor and connection. This is where we exist, traveling enormous. This is such thee force. Such a fine scene for…the loads of material out there. I wanted so bad to spill out raw in the prose that was coursing ma soul right there and then in our sojourn placement flying along the turnpike, highway, the ineffable…but I don’t write like that.

But like anything and everything it turns away and divides, separates, the pack of semis drifts apart to other lanes, a variety of autos coast in and out, the radio changes to New Order (Ceremony) and the power in my hands breaks apart, and the true world arrives and there’s demand for more from the insides. But mine ache and distract and deter me from that long story which could arise, right? So, here is what I got so far.

It begins there, too; cuz I was reborn on a street, a 4-laned avenue when I was 12 and “I awoke” (what I told my photo caption should read on the website it was published on, if ya take a look; it’s ok but hey that must be publishing I guess, anyways…) in the summer of 91. That’s when it hit me; an automobile going well close to 50 maybe; in a residential zone, a street-lighted dreams distance, the busy road between my friends and our homes, our placements in the separation of our neighborhoods. And me, the guilty child, and yea, wanted to get up and just ride on along home. But drop back or resurface then unto that road this child we once were. Awake. Give him a chance to hear Ceremony. Read Pynchon. Oh my. Oh me. Oh Drop, yes oh graceful angels of destiny lower, place him breathing up ‘heavenknowsit’sgotobethistime’ into the rage -gasp! (and the world becomes wavy) as he opens the flashes and the world ripples outward; and I…yeah me, I want to ride along on my own shrinking moment, memory. I want to redo. But, I can see the whole thing over and over fearlessly still. ‘forev..erer’ — That is my perspective anyway.

Yet peel back them tears a little further and glimpse a force, and drive around as they cut my favorite T-shirt from my young lifeless body coming back alive; from these frail searches like for breaks and fractures, bruises, around my sides and my waist, looking for impressions, pain, checking the head maybe, whiplash; that. But with pulses and breathes around; scatterbrain consume the exulted—“did you black out son?”—form the crowd, paramedics, folks together harmony and rhythm it all again slipped but inside the horn renaissance you now swim in; ahhhh with me, and there see the low profile vehicle coming… and then on the other side there was pretty much nothing wrong. So, yea let me ride along on home. But…well, that is not in the literature, in the cards anyway; court date you know what I’m saying? But it was me, my fault anyway; but provides some good background, my un-layering, my memories, in the grimy enormous confusion; but the presence.

Kind of the idea…Just like that. A great collision this piece was turned out to be. Meant to be.?. Also, my wish for another way through life. A different story let me tell you in such a small thickly arched pocket, and form a manic congested little loop, down down down to swallow a scene where quick-as-the-energy sparked from an empty grave –am I ghost? that! but quaked!? Then disintegrate. Oh ho, bent loose in them physical  — just conquered — momentums of the earth, that all became the summer afterward, the…91 releases if you know what I mean (and I hope you do). All makes me wonder so much of that which is connected, but mostly, makes me grateful to still be alive; but mostly, like something the sacred hour that got tighter and tighter at every turn to twilight there that I came back into; sets me up to believe I will never be allowed out; until I go through THIS, write the nonsense, buzz ALL heartstruck about how I entered the darkness, but then marveled the light flooding back on down and throughout; but ewww more than anything else, but how I must tell it, now…so wrenched inside. How I am unable to be normal, yet I must be. And I just cannot. How it was there before all this.

(Until I explain it. Right? Right. Let me try here.)

Ok. Like take your Grateful Dead any day, I will take my Jefferson Airplane live instead. Or sometimes you need Mazzy Star (Had a Thought) in the ears on a rainy afternoon setting off coyly the momentum of these epic anthem stealings, this creativity of stealing Keyser Soze-esque fragments of them snippets of songs ‘inyoursmiletherearemanyofwaystocure_ThePain_uh-huh’ and literature and movies and reusing such for the moments when it comes time to define what it’s like coursing through these terrors to be alive right now with this wrinkle in my guts. But to reach, touch God say, in the Sistine! In the overwhelmed distractions and the overwhelming media around, and just to try and be…understood. And in control. Oh let me play the piano once for everyone. But, I can’t. No. To avoid the collision, Wait…Because I am really not telling it just…right. And that is why I write and write and rewrite; and wrote this piece and rewrote it ten thousand times and ten thousand ways. To make sure to take a stand; in myself; and against everything already out there. It is my stand against the psychology already established. And my stand in the reality of a disability. Not in fiction. It is my stand against that which is fuming down the highways ready to tell me that I am wrong; by showing exactly where it is I stand (or sit, for that matter). No, it is not another protest. Hang on a sec…

And so many times I wrote it; streaking the ineffable, taking note of the minor details of things on vehicles — the foaming on the road, a little piece whipped around a tailpipe of a pickup and shredded as it unravels, flutters galore…so maybe it would be; and in so many different ways; so right…I sorted through visions and very many different songs for the soundtrack within, to exactly grasp that feeling of what is I am trying to say; and where it could reach so many, and how celeritous it was going; and where; and why; and all that…’representation.’ Cuz it seems it must. And, well also, I mean, why else am I still here? Just for this piece? I hope not. So, let’s make it true, right. And make it rock. Great!

It was going to be such magnificence.

But you see, I have this problem. (I sometimes think I am talking to the stars..).. No seriously though, they call it IBS and I cannot disagree more. Call it something else. Please. You see, it is so much more than what it is and the way it is perceived. And that is where the whole Inextricable Knot thing turns. Turns out I have this problem (you know, with how they treat me and how they diagnosis it. Like it is something I do NOT have. Or, just have? A problem). Like it is a somatic disorder and merely inside my head or my psychology; because all tests cannot explain the pains I feel. Was it the accident? Does it matter? It was there before I am pretty sure. And I can’t take it too much anymore (and that was 30 Years ago! I was writing that…). And with how much it costs me trying to get help, how it makes me not even want to ask anymore. Write. Write it down yo…Cuz I really cannot afford to! But I got to. And I got to go go go but I got these lumps/growths forming all over me now. Oh what the hell are these?? So much…… yet it is; and yet it is completely not. So I wrote…

That is another thing I was trying to get to in this work. Reality. With fiction, kind of…Or, that I intended with the book, that which it was supposed to be; that originally was; then, this…Piece…And still is — as I left a novel in pieces on the cutting room floor, a great many pages and words and various images that were going to magnificently follow this fantastic opening scene into the chapters after…and rapturous speakers and so forth. So, somewhere it turned. Crash. Maybe it just simply crashed. I did. How it is completely out of my control; trying to fuel, feed and so forth; change roads so much, that I cannot disagree more, as I said. And, moreover, I have this problem because I cannot finish that novel; and just have this little story now. That! explains it all ever so perfect; but, furthermore, that I will not settle for a lack of explanation. I have the full argument in my head every single day driving to work; the full book; getting ready; turning awake; oh groans…but, cramps (Am I woman?)… furthermore, in my stance; bowels, mmm bowls over? and even still — at the toilet. I know — disgusting. Right? That is what this piece does. Where it goes. Zoom! Spoiler alert!! In my guts. Sunk. Oh how precisely that describes — whoosh! where it unsettles? Maybe. And here it comes down the heavy road. With a full force of passion, the music of the world through the 90s, and yet…

It is revealing these issues I deal with; that was going to be the book. That is the hook, the short of it; this piece; an overly described just awful mess of symptoms, condensed into which did not just magically come to me; or, desire to be turned to some shortened little path, a tiny portion of frustrated fiction. Cuz it is embarrassing and ridiculous and such a shame. Especially for men. Am I even a man? It is so much more. And I don’t think so in the world of them (men) — I tell you what. It is so hard enough to talk about awful poop anywhere, and even harder to be understood how different it is for folks like me; while not laughing out loud. And there is the secret to it, the taboo and the jokes and just between you and me, it simply, truly is really frickin gross; more gross than just having some potty issues coursing this circulation and such; but that is how it is viewed. A joke. So Cameron, I took a stand, too. Sat down and poured into notebooks so much ink; then typed it all up over the years. (I really would rather pen it all down down down I know that now). And, I got a great sense of humor (and threshold of pain) I like to think. Good outlook on things. But, I changed and changed this corrosion of the insides that it is constant, chronic, into words that maybe will convince them (whoever they are, right?) just a little better than Fluffy. HA! He’s great. To — ok- laugh a little — ok. But to make ya feel this way; all upside down and inside out, with finer details I must hide at these moments; but do not want to get too far into…cuz yea eww…Well, to show that it is my life. And that! is the other thing that I was trying to begin with this piece. Turn the literature from something out of imagination into the reality of living inside one of them fears of some dystopiated fictional character they made up. Yes, I just invented a word. Mmmayb…

It is unbearable at best. There has always been a sense that I can write what so many others have merely imagined. Yet, it did not turn out like that. And yet, maybe another one (piece) will. Hopefully it introduces that concept. Grounds all the fiction. And rises them up. Oh it makes me tire to think how much more I must create. Cuz this piece feels incomplete. To turn it into the story I see…

Well, let me tell at least (tell) Why it is called – Inextricable Knot. Cool? Cool. Ok great! The title comes from a line in the Scarlet Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne: “This feeble and most sensitive of spirits could do neither, yet continually did one thing or another, which intertwined, in the same inextricable knot, the agony of heaven — defying guilt and vain repentance.” Now, while that has a deeper and different meaning as it refers to the minister Dimmesdale’s doom of being unforgiven, I thought, well that is very similar. Especially that mention of a knot. But, moreover, the purgatory of it all. And whether I talk about my symptoms or hold them secret due to the severity (it seems) of the awful things that happen, that no one wants to or needs to talk about or read anyway, or probably will if I unveiled the journal of these feelings inside, that character I am continually dealing with — cancer maybe, an inextricable lump, or knot, what’s that?!… — well it would not matter. It is my doom.

I really wanted to draw the line between. And still deeper, deeper, down…divide the mind and the body. Or, should I say eliminate the idea that this is in my mind, because…where was I? … oh that’s right…so, instead of a character in fiction and a terrific imagination of a story, instead of a short fiction, I attempt(ed) to place the feeling of living within some grotesque or diseased story; all at one instant but truthfully, maybe as being left lingering in a kind of stuck existence, an in-between place. But it is not imagination entirely. The body sends pain signals to the brain to tell it that something is wrong. I just wanted to say that just now. And with this work and the book I want/ed to redefine this irritable issue (along come a multitude of disabling issues out of one’s control, I know) and rearrange (all of you stars too;) the pieces — until these are some things that we can study and dissect, rather than use a cash cow. Cuz I am flippin broke in the ‘Black Market Mercurio’ (which is another story I got for ya’ll).

Anyways, it is meant to be an exciting little piece that is ripped away from the spectacle coming and was very hard for me to read, narrate, or audio that is…So, if you want to check it out, it is at an “online journal of deaf and disabled literature & art” — called Deaf Poets Society.

Now, you may be asking how is this a disability? And that folks is such a novel thing…That! Is why I think I needed to explain, write this piece again if it takes…; and that is why I am always writing things too personal; but, why and how this piece came to be…It feels incomplete and I am getting a little weak, tired, distracted by more things and songs to tell about…than I ever will be able to, you know…? but hey there’s nothing wrong with me. Cynical Right?

I hope it unveils a little more of yours truly and this…..whatever it is. So, yes, but please check out my my very first published material, my beginning to this whole literature thing. I Hope.

Find it here: Inextricable Knot

I cannot express my appreciation and gratitude if you do. And to Charli Mills at thee Ranch, and to the Deaf Poets Society for the opportunity to share my piece in their Issue 5 release.

As always, thanks for ragin’ and God bless.

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Elliott Lyngreen was born, raised, and schooled Catholic. He’s a middle child of a very large mixed family. Stepsiblings and half sisters; a whole brother, and cousins upon cousins; not all blood, but all family. He’s a 38-year-old electrical systems designer for a local engineering firm. Marvel music, sports, photography, films, etc. and has been writing since 15. He proses on mostly short pieces. Afflicted by an indescribable sickness, he tries and aims to eliminate the idea of its definition as a frequent urgency manageable with dietary changes. Because it is so much more.

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Raw Literature is an ongoing conversation about those first works we create as writers, as literary artists. Guest Authors share personal insights on their craft, its process, the experience of creating raw literature and what they do with it. Carrot Ranch is a dynamic literary community that creates raw literature weekly in the form of flash fiction (99 word stories). If you have an essay idea, pitch to Charli Mills, Lead Buckaroo, at wordsforpeople@gmail.com.


42 Comments

  1. Charli Mills says:

    Thank you for sharing your first published literary piece at Carrot Ranch. Brave doesn’t even begin to describe your journey, yet how you’ve used to to drive your writing is amazing. I discovered how powerful your writing is when I read your flash out loud at open mic night (I read our compilations). Then, to discover your audio as well, seemed like serendipity. You have star dust in your writing and, yes, I’m know compelled to help you find a cure. But don’t stop pushing the bounds of literature!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Thanks for posting Charli. You even got the songs linked!! How cool…. I have truly honed my craft here. And i am always trying to improve. every word. That was fun.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Charli Mills says:

        I enjoyed working with your essay, Elliot. Loved listening to you read! You took on deep human issues, and I hope you see how literature humanizes your personal battle through the literary craft of words. You always push beyond boundaries of metaphor and music, making your art loud and paced on the page. Glad to have you here!

        Liked by 1 person

      • Trying to humanize something inhuman to most… trying open eyes. And kind of wished i would have addressed the actual publishing process in this write, but i sometimes get distracted into other ideas and concepts and so forth when im writing. Oh and honestly that was the first time i ever truly read my work aloud and definitely the first ever recording of such.. maybe should have practiced a few rounds lol. It gave me a greater perspective yes….. You are one wonderful writer and human being and its been a joy participating. It is still amazing the reinforcements you bestow upon us. Idk how u do it. But im glad you do… Thanks for having me as always and accepting my attempts to go beyond. Always enjoy reading your articles and flashes. admire the efforts you put in to make this a great place. And have Many Thanks for raging with me Charli!!! for reading it ALL. Eternally grateful =] mmmm “Lets do another! Lets do something that really Cooks” [–from Back to the Future]

        Liked by 2 people

      • Charli Mills says:

        You have a future in audio literary art, Elliott! It’s a pleasure to rage with you and certainly, let’s keep on. The Ranch is a special place for all who gather. My job is easy — I get to cheer you all on! Words for people! We own the literary space. 🙂

        Liked by 1 person

      • I have been told i read well! Yup lets do another. Im still with it

        Liked by 2 people

      • Charli Mills says:

        Great! I’m thinking it would be fun to invite you and other writers to read the compilations, too. It’s something I plan to do for my Patreon site. And that’s something you might look at, too: Patreon.com.

        Like

      • Nice! That could be very fun. Im not however much about the money 😉 or much of an advocate for literature being read aloud. I think it is a strange irony. Maybe i will write something about that …. But.. Sure! Id b willing to give it a shot.

        Liked by 1 person

      • Charli Mills says:

        I love the spoken word, too! Think Shakespeare. He understood good writing, but he wrote to heard and experienced.

        Like

      • It is a performance. I am a firm believer in that of literatures.

        Like

  2. Reblogged this on Author Don Massenzio and commented:
    Check out this essay from author Elliott Lyngreen from this post on the Carrot Ranch blog

    Liked by 2 people

  3. […] Source: Raw Literature: Publishing A Literary First […]

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  4. julespaige says:

    Any dis-ease wants to grab and label us. Not all are visual. We all have differing abilities. So, since I have friends who have children who have been “labeled” through the years better terms have been sought out to describe their health issues. We are all “differently-abled.” Not “disabled”.

    It is our experiences in coping that some of us are able to write about. Making our dis-comfort plain, but not so simple. We are all more alike than we are different. And when we can read other’s journey’s in private, the ones they have made public – I think it (those) stories fiction or non can help us all to cope and get on with another day.

    Continued success in your writing. ~ Jules

    Liked by 3 people

    • Wonderful comment Jules… Yes, that is kind of the gist of what I deal with sometimes. We all (who) battle this do it in a different way. For some, it is a change and they recover. I cannot seem to find that wholly. Yes we are the same. I’m constantly fighting with what I could try or do with what others have done to help cope; and what works for some may not work for others; or does not seem to work for me. It is usually the center of my writing and usually the goal I try to achieve, or want to anyway. To show what it is and what it may not be. And while it may not be a disability but it is definitely debilitating. Just like a deaf person, who is perfectly capable of functioning or doing many many things, ultimately they cannot do one thing – Hear. In that same respect, this issue that I have makes what is otherwise ordinary to most, nearly impossible for me. Would I trade my ears for digestion?? If I could..??? You know how much I LOVE music. And the answer is YES! Yes I would. And I know there are many disabilities and health issues that are far greater than mine so I carry on. But always comes down to the fact that I cannot live, yet I am not dying (tho I feel like it most of the time). It’s hard to define and describe how difficult it really can be to deal with. How it goes well beyond my bowels. Speaking out about it, shedding light, and reaching out to not only help others cope, but maybe further connect with anyone that might have a solution or offer me some insights. Thank you for taking a moment to read and comment. It means alot.

      Liked by 3 people

      • julespaige says:

        I have/had a family member with IBS – (so I knew right away what you were talking about) though I think they have found solutions – such as certain foods to avoid as well as some particular types of stress. Along the lines of certain Migraines. Food avoidance and stress. Thought some will ignore any advice that might be contrary to what they want to hear.

        Knew of a gal who was allergic to a particular food. Avoid it right? Nope ate it – but took meds first to combat the negative outcome. People can be strange. That is for certain something we all have in common 🙂

        Liked by 3 people

      • I wish it were that easy. Like i said, yes, i agree there are many solutions out there and ‘things’ that one can do to manage the symptoms, but like the commercial says, it only manages them. Its not like there is remission. Some people do achieve a vastly improved way of life. Some do not. I have been through countless elimination diets, altered my soaps/shampoos/laundry detergents. I have gone through many many different types of drinks, waters, and did manage to find ONE that does not bother me. I have found a system or things to avoid way of living. Yet i have found that sometimes…. they stop making that stuff. I have gone through the steps, and researched and trued many things, but ultimately there is no CURE. And dong these only makes life just a little more bearable. Thee best thing i could come up with was when i found a dr 3 hours who treated me for lyme disease (though tests were negative) and i was on antibiotics for a good 3 hours driving once a month 6 hours pretty much just to get my Rx. They helped tremendously! But….. well thats another story…. and im not on antibiotics anymore. I was really doing good at this time of my life. But i was 120 pounds, had only the energy to manage working mostly, and finally did not feel like i was circulating rust. My argument in ALL this is that for me, at least, there is merely a flimsy and precarious sense of existing; as opposed to an inability to operate this here body of mine. And, in desperation, every time i begin to get into it, well it seems that i am not convincing enough. Its awful cuz people really dread hearing about it. Its such a drag to discuss. SO grant me the same aid as someone with a disability. I just do not understand why it is such the struggle. I am expected to live as if i am normal. Theres no assistance. And i think it is due to the facts that it is quite different and extremely individual. Yes people can certainly be strange. It is like they cannot comprehend why a deaf person is unable to hear. Thats a stretch, but i think there is more confusion about THIS then there is anything else cuz they just do not know what to do. So yea, i beg for assistance. Thanks for sharing and listening. I hope im not bringing down the positivity at the Ranch. Just trying to explain/convince.

        Liked by 3 people

      • One last thing… when it comes to a point that one has to avoid everything what can they do? I mean, they hav to eat.

        Liked by 3 people

      • Charli Mills says:

        This is a powerful and devastating statement all in one: “Would I trade my ears for digestion?? If I could..??? You know how much I LOVE music. And the answer is YES! Yes I would.”

        There are often no solutions and only “management” and I think it’s both a grace and an outrage to accept. But never give up on the h.o.p.e. A loved one suffers from Crohns. I remember sitting with her in her angst, feeling as though she was at the precipice of dying every day. She’s tried many things, including food eliminations and medical intervention, even the Mayo Clinic. I haven’t talked to her much about “gemmotherapy” that she got into, but it’s help her. I could put you in contact with her if you want to ask about her experience with it. The woman who wrote the book is her aunt:
        http://laurenhubele.com/welcome-to-vital-extract/

        And in no way are you bringing down the positivity of the Ranch! We look at hard things, chew on rocks in hopes of spitting out words that mean something. When it’s personal, when it’s a daily wreck, it’s vulnerable to share and we can’t sprinkle fairy dust on it as much as we wish it all well for you. It’s brave to say it isn’t. And unfair that such conditions are not supported. Our healthcare is messed up, but I see you as an advocate and the hope is hope for change, maybe words to get change enacted. Seems as I do advocating on behalf of my veteran spouse, I look at this subject often. Maybe this site is something you’ve see, but if not maybe it contains useful information: http://www.disabilitysecrets.com/win-can-you-get-disability-for-irritable-bowel-syndrome.html

        Liked by 2 people

      • I appreciate that very much. I was near the edge of unloading! And i dont want to attack anyine. Jules, she always likes my stuff and shes just offering a point of view. Sorry Jules if i offended or anything…. Charli, i will look into these links and check these things out and could be interested in contacting your loved one. Thanks! (I say thanks so much on this site lol:)… its hard to do the leg work and then trying things that cost me an arm and a leg, but produce no results. So im hesitant to pursue anything. And disability is so much the double edge sword. Cuz u cant really work and it does not provide a great income. So ive heard. I dont know too much about it. I know its a pain to qualify but my info kind of tapers off there. I would much rather write about some utopian Mars or finish that adventure with my dudes on a road trip… but such is life. Yes. Yes i would trade. Some days would give anything to absorb whatever i eat…. i could go on and on. Ive been tested for many things, but nothing positive. Well.. H pylori. But they give like a week of antibiotics. Im like… thats not going to work. Lucky i have insurance! But that means working…. Anyways, as i said, i could type endlessly. Let me mull it over and get around to checking these things out. Definitely something worth looking into. Oh “Chew on rocks”… ive used a similar description. ….. thanks again =]

        Liked by 2 people

    • Charli Mills says:

      Thank you for your comment, Jules. It’s good to know that in sharing stories it can create avenues to cope.

      Liked by 3 people

  5. I’ve been silent here only because I am speechless. Pardon me when I do say how your writing shows guts. Seriously. And your excitement and enthusiasm should be bottled and sold, but only under special license, it is so potent. Hang in there and write on.

    Liked by 3 people

  6. Norah says:

    Like D.. I too am speechless. I read through your essay of personal outpourings and down through all the comments. How difficult to live a life with such a debilitating unidentified and unrelenting monster in your insides. You do well to express your anguish and keep your words in check, caring as much for our sensibilities as for your need to express.
    I remember saying to you when we first met, here at the ranch, that I felt there was poetry in your words that read like stream of consciousness. But what is interesting about them, and I notice it more in this lengthy piece, is the way your thoughts jump all over the place, as they do in reality. It must be particularly difficult to concentrate on any one thing when you are consumed about consuming and digestion. Digestive complaints, even mild ones, are an enormous pain, embarrassment and inconvenience. I can’t imagine what you must be going through. I feel your need to escape but also your need to live; devoid of pain, to be normal. Management may help, but can be a rigorous task master. A cure would be – if only. I wish you a hope and a willingness that persists and realises what you hardly dare contemplate.
    I popped over to the Deaf Poet’s Society to check out your published piece(s) but have neither read nor listened yet. I shall certainly do so. I used up all my reading time on this one this evening! Charli’s response to your reading has me excited about listening, and I agree with her response about your willingness to choose digestion over hearing. If only your bowels would stop groaning, you’d be able to replay the music of your youth in your head.
    The accident you suffered on the road sounds awful too. It’s a good thing you survived to have the opportunity of sharing your thoughts and words with us.
    Congratulations on your publication. Best wishes for a more comfortable future.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Yes Norah I don’t know if it is part of my personality or part of the issues i deal with; but when combined, both get me all like a wall of newspaper clippings and that string webbed around numerous thumb tacks. But there is a great distraction with things happening all over my insides…… I feel so connected now. and it has taking some struggles and efforts on my part and the ranch and overwhelming amount of time and writing to reach this point —— Relief!! I’m like feeling a huge exhale. Like i have broken through to a point i always intended to reach. This means alot. A LOT!! thank you… and yes, if you get a chance to read it that alone is awesome to me. I always say ‘thanks for ragin with me’.. To me, it is like thanks for walking in my shoes with me. This makes me feel better about it. that there just quite possibly could be hope.

      Liked by 2 people

    • Charli Mills says:

      Norah, thank you for such a thoughtful and uplifting response to Elliot, acknowledging his circumstance, voice and writing. I know you are an audio book listener, and one who has started me on that path, and I think you will appreciate hearing Elliot’s words when you get the chance. I appreciate you using up your night’s reading tokens here!

      Liked by 2 people

      • Norah says:

        You know, it was a really long piece, but I couldn’t stop reading. Elliot has a very individual way of writing, but it worth reading through the tangles to discover the essence inside. If was great that you featured him in this series. That his writing is raw could be interpreted in a number of ways. Publication is a great achievement. Many try, but not all succeed.

        Liked by 1 person

      • This is weird; i am pushing reply to Charli, but i want to reply to Norah’s reply to your comment charli…. 🙂 So Norah… “but I couldn’t stop reading…” … “through the tangles..” That is what i hope readers will do when they are going through me. That is why I tend to say ‘wait’ or ‘hang on a sec’.. As i said I am all over the place and a tough string to follow (even to myself).. I find myself trying to cover everything and every question a reader might have. Some kinks i would like to work out, but I no matter what I start writing i always find things that I just have to get down before I forget them. Not so much the ideas or thoughts, but the words in which I organize to describe the thought. It is a mess, but I cannot stop writing no matter where it leads no matter how off the path it ricochets. YES! Thanks for spending your tokens(?) on my writing. Norah you are a just as key to my participation here at the Ranch as Charli. Thanks for always being there =]

        Like

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