Discourse on Artists...

"If you practice an art, be proud of it and make it proud of you. It may break your heart, but it will fill your heart before it breaks it; it will make you a person in your own right."--Maxwell Anderson

How true that is, for all types of art--be they written, musical, visual, theatrical or otherwise. I am of the firm belief everyone that is a practitioner of the arts, be they novice or master, be they of any type, is given both a gift and a curse. A gift that they are given to hone and use for the furtherance of mankind, a curse for they are required to hone it.

An artist is surely one of the least selfish of all men, for in their craft they are both given this fire for enjoyment but, with it, is given an equal--if not exceeding portion--of pain. One might read a lonely poem, hear a heartbroken song, or see a painting of a mother bird stretched impaled before her fledgeling. They see it and it invokes an emotion within them, giving no thought however, to the emotion that it brought upon the creator of such a piece for others to see. What depths of the soul the artist must plunge in order to bring about a moment of enjoyment, a single ray of laughter that eeks forth from the audience in miserly payment for their shattered soul.

An artist is a broken man, a lonely man, one that throws himself upon the flaying board of their craft so that other might speculate, thenceforth clapping and nodding: "Well done, well done." They are the true salt of the earth that the Nazerene had spoken of, those that dissolve of themselves so thereby, because of their portrayal of that which bring inconceivable guilt and remorse, they might bring another pleasure. Their cross is a heavy one, one that is labelled "entertain" and the crowds that stand idly by throw stones at him instead of condolences and tears.

An artist will find consolidation within this though, for it is his satisfaction and his pain. His satisfaction for he knows that he has fufilled his life's calling, his anguish at knowing that none will fully be able to tell of the cross he bears.

A tribute to you, true, beautiful artist.... a tribute to you....

Just a thought

Blonde comment said yesterday: "You can oppress me, but you can't suppress me."

GAWD!! The WISDOM of it!! hehehehe

Thoughts of the Debauched Drunkard

I’ve often watched with lustful eye
A midget in her steady stroll,
Each step she took her fat she shook—
Her anus like a battlefield,
Pock-marks plenty her floral wreath—
A crown for my quaint Lolita.

And I’ve sat and starred for hours
At the blurring graffiti walls;
Wondering but what they could mean,
And why they stared back out at me.
Then, resolute, I turn to piss,
Adding my name to match the rest.

I’ve seen the sights of brothels filled
With the whores, both Rich and Red;
And stumbling towards them asked but
That I’d taste each their lemonades,
And have them cast me out again,
A vagabond for vulgar kings.

I’ve noticed then, when hells mouth is
Opened wide so angels enter,
And choosing the choicest captives
Bed them with a vigor unknown
To all that live upon this earth,
To wash their sins away from them.

Then, seeing this, I’ve turned away
My stomach churned to charity
(When chance I find a drinking well
To empty myself inside of
I’ll walk no more and, falling down,
Will find the street a welcome bed.)

That feels warm though I quake inside,
My dreams an equal hellish ride.

The Things I've Been, the Places I've Done

Yes, so it has been awhile since I've posted here... I laziness perhaps, or the fact that Orangutan meat is a southern Malay delicacy--I'm still trying to decide which.

I've just been tired this past week thats all. Insomnia's been creeping up on me again, but more then it used to before. And I've been having the strangest dreams too: of hilltops with old men smoking hookahs ontop of them, sitting beneath the shade of mulberry trees.

Writing's been going full swing though, at least for my book. Poetry's been a bit dry recently but, when I do come up with something I'll let you konw though k??

Pray for me...

Artistic Tribute 6

This weeks runner is Lord George Gordan Byron a British Romanticism poet. His poetry always seems to inspire me to write long pieces of form, and his poem "The Prisoner of Chillion" is an excellent discourse on the spirit of a once free man now broken. Here, however, is one of his shorter pieces.

Lines Inscribed Upon a Cup Formed From a Skull

Start not -nor deem my spirit fled:
In me behold the only skull
From which, unlike a living head,
Whatever flows is never dull.

I lived, I loved, I quaffed like thee;
I died: let earth my bones resign:
Fill up -thou canst not injure me;
The worm hath fouler lips than thine.

Better to hold the sparkling grape
Than nurse the earthworm's slimy brood,
And circle in the goblet's shape
The drink of gods than reptile's food.

Where once my wit, perchance, hath shone,
In aid of others' let me shine;
And when, alas! our brains are gone,
What nobler substitute than wine?

Quaff while thou canst; another race,
When thou and thine like me are sped,
May rescue thee from earth's embrace,
And rhyme and revel with the dead.

Why not -since through life's little day
Our heads such sad effects produce?
Redeemed from worms and wasting clay,
This chance is theirs to be of use.

Ever Feel...

like time's running out...

Seventy-four Nineties

It happened today, was bound to happen sooner or later and, well, it did.

Woke up at 6 in the morning to pick someone up at the train station, overslept the extra hour and a half allotted to me and lunch ended up late as a result. Dinner too was late but it wasn't my fault... the carrots were rubbery and felt like jello everytime I tried to peel them. We didn't have enough beef, so a good third of the sauce was soy...

Ahh the joys of East Bloc cuisine!!

Bought a cool whiskey flask today with the Soviet smybol engraved on the front. Spiffy lil thing, pocket size for travel convenience.

But bah, I'm just rambling, its too late here to think properly. Got about a half-chapter of my novel and a piece or two of poetry that needs work before I go to bed. So adeiu, good fellows. Something profound for you to ponder on as you sleep:

"If I hadn't have seen it with my own two eyes.... I never would have seen it!"

Adios

Do You Believe in Angels?

I remember vividly when I first met you: I had just turned 14 and it was my first camp ever. You were on my team for volleyball and, after we won, you started to do some odd chicken/victory dance with your friends. I thought you were staff, and imagine my surprise when I found out I was three months older then you. You were really the older one though and I was the younger. That’s the way it always has been. I remember when I first saw you I felt different being around you then I did around all the others, almost like there was something about you that I could not explain.
I was 14 though, brash and stupid, and for the first year of our friendship I thought that you and your “spiritualness” were dumb. I tried to be a tough guy, I tried to be a smart guy, I tried to be something that I wasn’t and yet you loved me regardless of it. I could not explain your reasons for still doing such things and so I would intentionally do wrong just to spite you. But every time I would, you never got mad at me for it, never made me feel condemned. You just gave me another one of your smiles, the type that make your eyes turn all sparkly and shine, and inside I knew that it wouldn’t matter what I would do, you’d somehow find a way to love and forgive me for it. It was that love and forgiveness that I will never forget. It was the first, genuine taste of it that I ever had outside of my own private family and, for the first time in my life, I truly felt like I had a friend.
We grew together, you and I—through those pubescent years that are always so difficult to cope with. It seems a strange thing but, whenever I would go through something you would go through it nearly at the same time, or a little before, or after. I drew off your experiences and, whenever I needed sound advice, I knew I could turn to you… even if I didn’t like what you had to say. I could tell you anything—every doubt, every worry, every fear—and feel perfectly secure in knowing that you would listen and, even if I didn’t understand myself, you would try to understand me.
And then, one year ago, when I felt my gut and soul torn out of me you were there beside me: never faltering, always sure, making sure that I kept holding on, guiding me even if you yourself could only see a few feet ahead. I can honestly say that thanks to you I survived those days, in more ways then just spiritually or emotionally. The night it all began I remember you holding me as I shivered, like a child in your arms. You didn’t say anything, just let me hold onto you; somehow you knew that your calming presence was more then enough to carry me through, more then any words could say.
You’ve always been the best to me and I can honestly, truly, say that knowing you and being so close to you has been the best honor I ever have or will receive. And now on this, your eighteenth birthday, I want to congratulate you and I want you to know how much you’ll always mean to me. This year will be full of hopes for you, darling: my hopes for you and your dreams. I hope the FDTP treats you right and you come out of it stronger then ever before. I hope that you will find contentment in the calling that the Lord has for you. I hope that you’ll go to Brazil like you always talked about and find that man that you’ve always dreamed of. A good guy, someone that treats you like the beautiful goddess you are and not the human you pretend to be.
A couple of weeks ago, at the EXIT festival, I was witnessing to a hippy about the spirit world. He was skeptical and asked me if I believed in Angels. Without thinking, a picture of you with your dreamy smile appeared in my mind and I left it there for a few moments, savoring the warm feeling it brought to me. “Yes, I do.” Was my calm reply, “I’ve seen them.”
Thank you for being that angel to me darling—for loving a lonely little poet-boy like me…I’ll always be here for you like you’ve always been here for me. HAPPY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY!!!!