Why I Don't Write Such Good Books

In the creative state a man is taken out of himself. He lets down as it were a bucket into his subconscious, and draws up something which is normally beyond his reach.
- E. M. Forster

I've been thinking about madness today. Not medical madness; divine madness. Plato spoke of 4 divine madnesses:

Prophetic madness (represented by Apollo);
Ritual madness (by Dionysus);
Poetic madness (inspired by the Muses) and everyone's favourite madness;
Erotic madness (whoopeed by Aphrodite and Eros).

For most people Erotic madness is the most clear example of a divine madness; most people have lost themselves in sexual anticipation, excitement and intercourse at some point. Some people several times a day. The idea of it being a 'madness' is illustrated when we get really horny about something and then later, after ejaculation, struggle to comprehend what the big deal was.

And Ritual madness too is easy to illustrate on these same terms; anyone who has woken up after drinking cheap spirits and sniffing poppers only to discover themselves by someone's side and thought, 'what the hell did I do this for?!' can tell you. Perhaps they are then suddenly consumed by Erotic morning madness nonetheless. Before chucking up.

Manchester is once again filled by tens of thousands of students and they're all consumed by madness. They house themselves in great Halls of madness and lose themselves in Ritualistic and Erotic MADNESS. Sounds like hooter-tooting fun? Aphrodite and Eros may drunkenly be making out tonight, but by November they will pass awkwardly in their Halls corridors trying to avoid eye contact with each other.

...As for me? Sounding like a bitter and ageing man once again... we all know that I'm supposed to be completely lost to the Poetic madness until I return with a novel. But every time I see my Muse in my mind's eye I start to undress her! Every time I try to lose myself to the Prophetic madness, that will surely lead me from being chained to a desk 9 til 5, I find myself on the wrong side of 10 pints of Ritual madness!

And then I make wild Ritual drunken whoopee with my very saucy Muse... but I can't satisfy her! I can't! My prick mustn't be big enough! My belly has grown Ritually mad! My balls are full of bad ideas! Anyway, as she lies there smoking a cigarette, so what? I have poked her now... she was just another piece of meat! Some Muse!

I am alone when I think this. I walk awkwardly past mirrors trying to avoid eye contact with myself.

Plato... Ah, Plato I don't talk to you so often any more!... Plato, my aristocratic ballsucking fuckbuddy, you surely missed out the 5th and final divine madness...

WHY I DON'T WRITE SUCH GOOD BOOKS.