C. A. Winter Blog

 This evening I have been plagued with some kind of force that's holding my hands back from the keyboard and my mind from doing anything but be productive. There's an irritation and stimulation across my entire body that's holding me back. I can't even have a single thought without it repeating.I've been sitting here trying to work out a scene for the novel. My novel, the rewrite, the thing that's gone along swimmingly for the last few weeks and is suddenly, inexplicably, at a screeching halt at the beginning of act 3. the end of act 2 was so insane and fun to write that I'm at the beginning of act 3 and I have no fucking idea what's not working but something isn't working. I don't even really know what to do here. I've mapped the scenes, given it a little bit of structural thought, and I'm getting caught on fucking technicalities like fingerprints and blocking and what it would feel like to be in his shoes. Chat, what does it feel like t...

I finished watching Seven, directed by David Fincher, today. Finally, after years of only the first half, I completed it. Dismal backstory for you on the forefront of this blog; I started this movie on December 21st, 2018. Part way through, whatever was in the small chalky yellow pills I’d acquired the night before kicked in heavily and I became extremely depressed. Turned the flick off and woke up with two-dozen slashes on my arms and handcuffs on my wrists. Hospital gown on over my boxers and a very grey set of parents on rickety waiting chairs. Angry that I was ali- that I was awake in a hospital. Missed Christmas. Never made it to the end of the film. After seeing it pop up on my Amazon Prime for the hundredth time, today I did. Grateful now, not only that I’ve lived past the age of eighteen, but also that I’ve made it to the end of the film with the lenses I have on now versus then. I wouldn’t have appreciated it then in the way I did today. That December all those years ago, I st...

Ebullient - She was plump and witty and ebullient. Dead sexy. Defenestrated - Thompson defenestrated all preconceived ideas around journalism, inventing a new form of communication; Gonzo journalism.  Ovoid - Blue and low hung, her foreign ovoid eyes struck him on the first glance; he fell hard.  Supperated - He squeezed the end of it, the mighty thing. Feverish and without delay, a white drop supperated from an invisible crevice.  Concupiscent - Keith Richards licked his lips and shone a concupiscent smile. Ululate - Hands wrung and writhed around her narrow legs and in a moment of great joy and immense confusion, her low whimpering moan grew to a horrific ululation. 

Another stream of conciousness while I'm stuck at home. Not stuck in a literal sense; I have a car and there's gas in it. I'm stuck in a mental way. I've been working on the final final final edit of Unworried all weekend. Thursday night I started it and today it's done and now I'm in this between state where I need to pick my fiance up in four or five hours from Altona which is thirty minutes away and I'm just kinda sitting here unable to make a real decision. It feels like I'm devoid of dopamine, which in turns means I'm devoid of decision making, which in turn means I'm sitting on the couch with my laptop and my phone switching between Reddit and Instagram like it's nobody's business. Scroll, I should stop, scroll on bigger screen, I should stop, email checking, scrolling I should stop. STOP!  So i coded(claude coded but I pay for the subscription so its MINE) I coded a spin the wheel program and had it spin between gaming, writing, re...

Goin’ Out, Bein A Creep by C. A. Winter Tired I was of my black apartment. Pitch floors, raven ceilings, blue mirror from the reflection off the floor into the bathroom. Light switch on the wall invisible with the hour and no reason to reach for it. Too late for the lights on, too odd. Two in the morning all I hear is the damn air conditioner unit. Blind men hear better, taste better, feel better. Can’t see very well though, my god-given right to this world, the visible world, taken away by something every night and why should I let it? This sun, this setting and this rising. Why do I conform to the dark and the heat and the cold its cycles bring? And what about the moon. I digress. If the sun won’t wait for me, I won’t wait for it. Big stupid ball in the sky goes to ruin a perfectly good day. Fingers on the blinds moving sideways show a street lamp fifty yards up. Same place every day but I don’t see it none because I don’t look yonder often. Defiant on the sidewalk, beaming on the we...

  You the creator, whispering to the mind When they look in to your soul  Do they stare at the black of your pupils Or the shadows in your memory The places where you lay to rest the demons of the past In your spirit  Is it kindness or merely  A kind of listless vacancy that glows red against the pitch horizon Rows of rooms unentered Each needing a new key Reception turned their back and now Sticky are your fingers as you walk along the halls Picking things from the floor, capturing them in the cups of your hands Little lightning bugs in a glass jar Guide the way oh captive, my captive An untimely suffocation for the journey ahead Soon the light will slip And soon you will falter Do not go gentle Into that Good night \\'