Just a poet without a pen
Ben Bonkoske
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The Boss is Back (Everybody be Quiet!)
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.
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Fake it, Make it, Rake it in
Sometimes sad music is the vibe. But sometimes it is good to rock out. I’ve been wallowing so much for a long lil’ while. And all I can attribute it to is twofold. The first is a chemical recalibration of the dopamine in my brain. The other is just holding onto who I once was, and would’ve died to have been.
Reframing thought and emotional patterns in your brain is no easy work. It is like working out – if you run five miles and then do three sets of your max, it will probably will screw you. You can’t just not love someone tomorrow, or know how to be empathetic with others and yourself, or pray for life over death with the snap of your fingers. As far as I am aware there is no spell that can Alacazam a person into similitude perfection from your former self.
But sometimes we need to say goodbye to that old self. That old person we loved. I think that there is a part of me that has been in a constant subtle psychotic episode for the past nine years. Not so much that I have been out of touch with reality, of which I have been in many capacities, but more so that I have been out of touch with who I am, and who I supposed I was.
It is peaceful to be at peace with who I’ve become. Not who I wanted to be, or who others want, but just who I ended up as.
It’s not about the name changes, or the introverted extroverted archetypes I’ve invented, the Love God complexes, or infamous reputations that nobody cared about – well, maybe it was. And I don’t know what it is about if not all those constituents, but I think it is just the difference between mourning sad music, and changing your tune.
Ten Zen by Ben is live on Barnes and Noble. It’s a book I’d rather have find you through the grapevine. But I don’t mind people picking the fruit I sowed.
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 wrote his own major at the University of North Carolina, Asheville focusing on Racial Tension in America. He attended Northeastern, Illinois University where he earned a Masters of Arts in Secondary Education. He lives in Chicago, where he likes to take walks.
B. A, M.A.T.
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Bencbon@gmail.com
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Ben Bonkoske 