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introduce myself? okay...introduction and confession.


    i wish that when I rolled up, people said "Hey, Cat, whassup?" I guess I have to make a name for myself 

    as far as that is concerned.   Friends call me Marc.  

    cataleptik is a term i use to describe myself as well as a screen name. and i have had fortune in trances and experiences

    in trancendentalism.   and i do prefer William Blake, and hope that when I pass away from the physical planes, that I leave a body of poetry behind that is reminiscent of William Blake's.   So I guess that I am introducing myself as a poet, first, if not foremost.


    It's easy to consider myself a poet because, if i go completely dirt broke, not just toeing the lowermiddleclass poverty line right now, but completely destitute, utterly bereft, i can still be a poet.


    i have lost a lot of poetry.   wrote it down, couldn't keep track of it.

    once I was on a train.  i wrote in my new book, i wrote and wrote. i was on fire.

    spot-on observations about my life at that time, the people around me, 

    metaphors, descriptions, feelings, i was on FIRE~


    and as i got off the train, heard the doors close behind me and realised where

    i had left the book i had just bought, for a moment i considered ways to get to the next station.


    maybe catch up with that book?



    the book of poetry was gone.  and that wasn't the first time or last time that such happened.  i met a writer who stopped writing and started drinking.  she did not like being gifted, she wanted to just drink and stop her mind from having insights.  i pitied her.

    i wrote and wrote and wrote right through my period of being drunk. there were a lot of typographical errors...

    i met another writer who had abandoned the craft.  she said she wanted to be a career writer, but could not stand the idea of being critiicized and never, ever wrote again.


    i study art and artists as well and know that critique, applying critique to ones' self is that thing that improves writers.

    as far as i see things, no writer can really hone their talent into skill WITHOUT critique, and embracing and accepting critique.

    i wonder what was really going on with those writers who gave up on it?   



    the arts, the arts.  after years  of face down binge drunkenness i have quit cold turkey.  stone cold sober for years,

    the first thing i noticed was the weight loss.  twenty pounds, gone.  just like that.  i learned that all people who cut alcohol completely lose a lot of weight,   that feels pretty good.  i have been to the abyss, i hit bottom, as they say.  


    because i am sober, now, i know what that is about.  the bottom. i remember it.   the smell of the gutter, the smell of the piss and the other drunks, the weird, sad smiles and the delusions and fights and 


    yeah, i remember it.  that person who i was, then.   this person who i am now, his vision is more clear.

    his sense of taste is more acute.  he can maintain a point of view from week to week.


    the next time i have a serious good old drunk, i will have something to celebrate. something really awesome.  not sure what.


    my confession here, is: sometimes, i want to

    rip off all my clothes, all my skin and become electronic light.

    then i would dive into the television set to be with glenn close.

    she would be happy to see me.  she would nod, knowingly and we would swim, naked

    made of electrons, away from all the news, and movies, and shows, and everything,

    we'd hold hands and swim into the static together.


    but that's just a dream.