Writ on this Date, a Friday, the Third of June, in the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Eleven:
I’ve been doing a lot of reading lately. And there are many reasons for this. A chunk of which involve a desperate search to find new influences and new inspirations (i.e. styles to steal, and works to copy). And another somewhat smaller chunk involves me just straight up trying to get out of this world man.
The world is mad bringing me down. My life isn’t half bad. I must be honest. But I guess perhaps my empathy level is at a heightened sensitivity? I dunno, but I just seem to feel other people’s dramas, and sufferings, and tribulations more than my own. It seems to put more burden on my shoulders. I dunno why. I guess that is a positive thing since you would think it would encourage one to reach out and help. But I think a lot of what the trouble is lay in me not knowing exactly how to help.
We’re always told to do the right thing, but damn, does anybody know what the hell the right thing is? I have friends and acquiantances and associates and family and close ones in this life. Fate has compelled me to them or them to me, so in respect to Fate, I cherish them all. I pray for them. Those I know. I love them. I really do. But when interacting with these cherished persons, I feel torment.
I feel everyone’s silent torment. It troubles me. Each is different. Each is unique. And it stokes the embers of my own. Again, I don’t know why. O, all these things I know not!
Initially, I am repulsed by it. Subconsciously, I take on a feeling of ‘so what? I got my own problems!’ But that doesn’t make it go away. So, then I try and talk. All the time with the talking. It gets tedious. It gets monotonous. It gets mundane. The same topics, over and over. And it never seems to go anywhere.
But what is interesting, I have noticed is that with my writing, I am doing the same thing. I am delving deeper and deeper into hidden issues. But this time, not of another’s, but of my own. I rouse my own darkest depths of depression and madness. I add insult to my injury, rather than adding insult to someone else’s. It seems to be the only way.
All this time in this life we ask, what good can we do? Really? At times, it seems the world actually restrains us from attempting to do it and everybody in it good. So then, after the same trite questions and debates and arguments, we lazily cozy up to a why bother approach. That’s where I’ve found myself. I just want to get out of here. And into my own world. Of my own creation.
But life ain’t so easy as all that, is it?
I guess as another grand design of that Oh-So-Ever-Present Fate, my writing always reverts back to and revolves around just that, my writing. I’m sure you all would agree: when it comes to the words I put on the page, I’m pretty self-absorbed. All the time on this blog I just say ‘my writing this, my writing that’, and I guess that’s just as well, because this is after all my writing blog conflabit. But where the trap in that is in the fact that my writing is linked to the very real world uncertainties and predicaments that I am trying to escape.
And that’s the world for you. It sneaks its ugly face into everything. It’s so easy to get stuck on worldly thinking. Especially when you only implement tools of worldly design. That means you, language.
Because you know who owns this world right? At least for the time being. Not the good guy.
That is why I’m thinking of taking a temporary hiatus from writing. Just a short little recess. To escape to a different, different world.
I’m gonna focus on art, for a minute. See, I gotta focus on Kingdom Thinking, not Worldly Thinking. Worldly Thinking thinks in language. Kingdom Thinking thinks in faith, hope, love, impressions, intuition, and thoughts that plunge to the depths.
I am going to think Kingly, then. And record my Kingdom Visions. Language can engage as best as any medium ever could, perhaps better than any, but it is constricting by definition, since it follows a design. A man-made design for that matter. I long to follow the design that is beyond any man’s comprehension. God’s design.
With art, there are no confines. You can chart and graph and navigate the deepest oceans of imagination’s astral sphere, and never run out of places to explore.
I am going to paint and draw more. Less writing. For the time being. An escape. But with a purpose. Rather than an escape back to the thing I escaped from.
Don’t get me wrong. I still love people. Still love the world. Still love my friends and family and whatnot. I just need to get the fuck outta here.
Thank you for your time and attention in perusing this freshly published post. God bless, think Kingly, and stay in the light.