Silence is golden

PHEW! My vow of silence is officially OVER. I emerge refreshed and replenished, with a dazzling aura of inner peace that is evident in all of last night’s drunken self-portraits. It’s almost a little spooky!

I’m not sure whose idea it was for me to go to Quiet Camp for the One Week Word Cleanse. (So hot right now!) My top three guesses are:

• my lawyer
• Mr. Pistol
• a concerned reader

But I’ll never know. The proposition was brought anonymously to the Board, and when they heard it, they thought it was the best idea, like, ever. I wasn’t so thrilled–it got me a little paranoid, as you might imagine–and Lefty was downright hostile to the notion, so much so that she vowed to take a similar vow should I be sent away, in protest and in solidarity. That Lefty, so principled! It’s adorable! Anyway, the Board refused to heed our pleas. They reminded us that they are in charge and we are totally powerless. We always forget that. Scraping together enough money to pay Q.C.’s tuition, or dues, or fee, or whatever it’s called, was a struggle. The Board had to schedule a bunch of extra speaking engagements (what are we, whores? Lefty wanted to know), and those motherfuckers even cashed the royalty checks we were saving in the bottom desk drawer to show to our moms.

For the money it cost, you’d think the place would be some sort of spa. But, sigh, how wrong you’d be. There was not a massage or a manicure to be had. There was only my wood-panelled cell–imagine the Berkshires crossed with Prison–with a cot, a tiny, dim window, and a plate of grub shoved through the slot in the door thrice daily. God, I was bored, and not regular-bored! Profound-bored. Slit-my-wrists bored. They wouldn’t even let us do crossword puzzles! Because, you know, words. For the first few days, I mostly just wept, quietly.

But then, something happened. It was just as the literature predicted. The inside of my brain became like a movie screen: I found myself thinking entirely in pictures. I no longer thought of Meta-Mirror, because there is no picture for blog. I feel a little guilty admitting this, but it was sort of a relief! Also, I thought up a bunch of new ideas for tattoos.

In the final days, Step Two gave way to Step Three, which is the whole point of Quiet Camp. Yep, Step Three is the Main Event: the pictures flicker to a stop and one’s mind is enveloped in sweet, velvety blackness. I don’t know how they do it–I’m sure they would say that I’m the one who deserves all the credit, but I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of witchcraft involved. In any case, it was pretty amazing. I can’t really describe it. (Obviously!) If you can get the dough together, I totally recommend going. I hear they’re going to add a Weekend Intensive soon.

On the shuttle to the train station, I was worried about coming home. I had broken my fast with a single okay–my first utterance in seven days! After that, no further words rushed to the fore. My brain felt really light and free, which was nice and everything, but I need words in my regular life. So it was a huge relief when, soon enough, I found myself asking for a one-way ticket to Grand Central, ordering a muffin and a cup of coffee–cream, no sugar–and excusing myself when my shoulder bumped somebody’s handbag. Now that I’m back home, it has been a WORD EXPLOSION. Poor Mr. Pistol! But lucky for you: I’ve got so many things to say!

by Pistol Whip | 14 October 2007 | meta | Comments