
As my sausage sizzles with a drip of olive mixed in with the pasta on my stovetop, high frequency music reverberates through my nervous system elucidating new pathways for insight and bold creative virtue. Wild how long it can become between writing a sentence that eases me to that level of delight.
You can rush, and run, and repeat everything so extensively that your forget how to articulate yourself. The body can write for you. But I must admit, what my sight has lost (apart from long distance vision which requires spectacles nowadays because of prolonged proximate reading), is to not just fill up posts with documentation of my annunciation of my everyday life – struggles and small time strides. Although, perhaps it is, to write to write.
Right before a long hiatus, I left with a anecdote about Stephen King, whom loves the joys of typing very much. My new anecdote is about how when he was a teacher, he wrote a book in a week during spring vacation (Hopefully this new anecdote doesn’t result in a year without posting.) The reason I bring up this is because I have until roughly the 7th of January, in which I will interview to begin substitute teaching. That is 17 days to pull together a book that should be published by now. The “sequel” to Ten Zen by Ben. It is a few days overdue. Let me mention that when it has been almost three years (999 days since today) since you (self) published a book, you really forget all of the nuances that go into it. Formatting, editing, revising, publishing, printing, reprinting, reformatting, typesetting, all aside from writing the damn thing.
Ten Zen by Ben comes out to about 100 pages. I had proven to myself with my first 1,000 pages that I could write a lot if I wanted. Ten Zen was about proving I can write well. The next ten books I write will just prove that I am a writer. When I broke my own silence strike, I began with the sentence, “I am not perfect.” No, Benjamin, I am not.
I try my best. There has been a small accounted for period where I have given only 70-80% of myself. Not guilty. I will sign off with this, I passed my content exam – the final requirement for me to earn my masters and teacher licensure. You need a 240 to pass, and the first time I took it I scored 238. Those two points amount to about one more correct answer needed for me to pass out of the 100 questions on the exam. This is how I made up that one point: I didn’t had a drink or a drug for two years, I didn’t smoke a cigarette for 18 months, I blacked out my room, I ran, I ate oatmeal, eggs, salads, salmon, and tons of vitamins, I used aroma therapy, I made sure to go to bed before 11 every chance I could, I listened to binaural beats to boost brain function, I stopped eating candy, pastries, or ice cream, I stopped drinking soda, I took cold showers, I slept on the floor, I prayed, practiced yoga, and meditation.
Did I study? 70-80%. But I won by tactic.
This stimulation conundrum is quite the perplexity. If you don’t know by now, lowered stimulation results in higher attention span, and a higher attention span usually leads to higher productivity. Stimulation can come in many forms, such as drinking, sugar, and phones. I have been quietly resolved for the past few years to slowly reduce as much of my input from these sources of stimuli. It doesn’t matter if you aren’t on Instagram; If you are watching two hours of YouTube and drinking two liters of soda, it really isn’t going to make much of a positive difference.
I personally believe that I can go too far with dopamine detoxing, relying on cold showers, no candy, soda, or pastries, and all sorts of tricks that have the essential goal of making me so bored I become productive. And lo and behold, it is starting to show some results. The strangest phenomenon, that I haven’t experienced since I was in the optimal execution of my writing regimen, is that when I sit down at my desk, I can stay focused and “do work” for upwards of three hours a day. This is after 20 minutes of meditation, 30 minutes of yoga, a 3 miles run, and 30 minutes of calisthenics. I truly am in the Patrick Bateman prime of my life. Not to mention I sleep on the floor (most nights) and fill my bathtub with ice. My latest IOS update is to have my phone off from 9 pm to 9 am. A 12-hour detox every day.
But let’s be real, all of this good news and flexing, is avoiding the real reason why someone would be interested in reading my regionally-renowned words. All of this superb excellence does not denote my longing for connection and understanding of the others and the universe. I am trying to recognize a dichotomy. 1. That I had a very profound understanding of the inner working of the world when I was very young (and up to this point) 2. That all of what I perceived is not explicitly factual, nor true.
Tis’ only the argument we can support by using evidence from the text. It does not do
well to dwell on symbols and omens as the basis of one’s life. My inception used to always be a punishment. It was always just waking evil – tricks and Robin Goodfellow giving me the finger.
But GOD!
That all being said, there are times when we can’t close our eyes to what the universe is serving up for dinner (I regret to write I am no longer a vegetarian). A heart that continues to beat off time, and sorrows of yesterday’s tomorrow. But love has replaced this fear of incompleteness. Perhaps I am not whole, but I am not empty. I said to my friend Lucas, “I have given up on the idea of the exterior world being the one to validate me. I have myself, and no, that is not enough. But it is better than loving something that doesn’t love.” I suppose I am half full.
I’ll end with this: If there was ever a year for the Raven to appear, it would be thus.

Ben Bonkoske is the author of two novels, Spoon in the Road, and Carolina, Colorado, California. He is also the author of two collections of short stories, Ten Zen by Ben, and Eleven Stories for 11:11. He lives in Chicago, where he likes to take walks.
B. A, M.A.T.