upside down, inside out

so i've been writing a lot lately. pretty much living and breathing my book like i said. it sort of helps that i spent outside of my budget this past month, which results in me being mostly a homebody. my routine has been to get up, go to work, come home, write, go to bed, repeat. on my days off, i've become this isolated wierdo, not shaving or showering, coming out only to get a few supplies and return back home where i spend most of the day writing, passing out for a few hours to nap in the middle of the day (it has been incredibly hot and humid here in vancouver this weekend), waking up and writing some more. actually, this whole experience, especially in the last couple of days, has reminded me of when i was in montreal writing dessert sessions.

the interesting thing, is that my isolation is helping. the scenes that i am writing involve one of my characters to go into isolation, where he watches the rest of the world unfold through television and from his balcony. i don't have a television, but my daily routine involves lots of web surfing, reading up on the latest news, which quite frankly, is depressing enough to not want to go back out into the world.

it's wierd, i wake up from naps in the middle of the day not knowing where the heck i am. then i go write about a character who doesn't know where he is. i've never really written myself into one of my books, but this character, john, seems to be doing everything that i do in real time. almost like it's a blog. strange. we'll see where this goes.

anyway, here's a bit of a soliloquy that i wrote. this belongs to some of john's thoughts. i will admit that a lot of what is written down here is directly from my own pining over a girl i was really into, yet now can't really remember why i was ever into her. these aren't my exact words, but the feeling is the same. keep in mind that none of this is edited. it's all just initial first thoughts:

I was mezmorized, hypnotized in her. Hands down, she was the cleanest. Everything about her… her eyes, her lips, her skin… Like the saddest songs, she leaves me to wonder. I don’t know if I loved her… but I could have. I was so… close. And I don’t know if that’s what I wanted… if maybe I wanted to feel love more than I wanted her per say… but I was so close. All it would have taken was for her to just… say… yes. I was mezmorized, hypnotized in her. And that’s not the fucked up part. The fucked up part, is that for the life of me… I can’t even remember what she looks like. Her name would blaze through my veins… yet I can’t remember what she looks like anymore.

now this part is just a little blurb I wrote for this scene in a club. the band i reference here is called the koreans. they're a band from the u.k. i have actually only heard one song of theirs, but i liked it enough to reference. the song is called Keep me in your mind and you can hear it by clicking here. referencing pop culture like this is dangerous, because it dates the book, but really, i don't care. i'm not expecting anything i write to be remembered.

The Koreans. Their single, Keep me in your mind keeps the building hopping. In the belly of the club, she dances in the dark. Her fingers playing with the air above her head, she dances. Between bodies she dances. In the dark. It’s a smooth transition, from the guitars and the electronic, eclectic beat of the song that pounds from the speakers to her slender figure striking a pose in her short, bohemian-patterned dress by Diesel. Shimmering under the low red and orange lights. Burning the candle at both ends, she’s lighting the club afire. Moving her hips slowly to the beat initially, warming up, then bobbing her head, inching her way across the dance floor. Shoulders reacting to the funky U.K. beat. The British know how to keep their shit tight. And tight is how she also keeps it, her skirt bristling about her long legs. There’s not one space that she’s not covering. Exuding all that she is. Emoting through her hips. Bouncing to the groove. And John watches this, in the dim light of the club, through his camera phone. The digital image of her won’t break down even with the poor megapixel quality. He snaps a picture of her and leans back in the micro-sued covered seat with his beer. Across the table from him, Elton sits, watching her intently. John glances at him, then back at Sean dancing. She’s bouncing on her toes through the chorus of the song, tossing her head from side to side, drawing close to the inevitable conclusion of it all. To know every molecule of her wouldn’t be enough. You had to own her.