Thursday, May 12, 2005


Thursday night closes in on Friday, and I can't sleep; they won't let me. No matter how dark, or how silent, I can't escape them. They thrive beneath my eyelids and in the deep recesses of my ears, so I try replacing them. Art, writing, music, I'll try anything to give me a moment's peace tonight. Sometimes, I think writing poetry or blogging will bring the issues more to the front, where I can deal with them; I'm almost invariably wrong. Communication works, but only if someone actually reads and understands what and why I write. This is an impossible situation. I'm confronted with a growing list of problems, a slipping set of tools, and a profound lack of an audience. I refer to my readers often on this blog, but I doubt their numbers.

Talking to you, my dear readers, is like vandalism. Few people notice, and most of those that do look only for flaws and ugliness in what I've done. My honest art seems lost in a sea of apathy and misunderstanding. These posts and my poems are my outlet to be understood; I believe most artists want to be noticed more than anything else. To extend the vandalism analogy, anyone can go to the Hirshhorn Art Galley and see purple painted stacks of tires or aluminum foil, but I'm stuck painting on nearby walls with as many colors as I can get my hands on. No matter how hard I try, or what I paint, people just seem much happier looking at grey concrete and tinted glass than the care I take with my art. I am not saying that all grafitti is art: I'm not "Cool 'Disco' Dan," trying to make a reputation off a hastily scrawled name; I just feel some art is ignored because of fickle fashions and a lack of access by artists to an appropriate audience.

I love my readers for the attention they pay me, but I'm greedy for more. If I can't make famous pages in publications, I will settle for this blog, and your attention. Tell me how you feel, honestly; I don't lie to you.

Am I worth knowing?
Am I worth reading?
Which is more monstrous, my poetry, or my face (for those who've seen me)? I know it's close.
Would you just like me to shut up?
Does my writing or acquaintance smother you?
Do I deserve better?
Do I deserve worse?
Do I deserve love or solitude?
Is it too late?
Are tears a sign of weakness?
How much is enough?
Honesty or Resilience?
Finally, should I feel the point of hope, or the pommel of mercy?


Anonymous said...

You are worth knowing.

You are worth reading.

Your poetry is only mostrous when written by your monsters. You face is not monstrous to those without your vision.

No, I don't want you to just shut up. If there is no peace in silence for you, then you need to make noise. Others might need some quiet to survive, so you might need to try to balance it. But no, I don't want you to just shut up.

How can your writing smother me when I am the one choosing to come here to read it? I do not have your acquaintance in person enough to be smothered, but I could understand it becoming that way. Drowning people hold on hard. I know I have before.

I cannot see your total balance within creation, only this brief time around. Who can rightfully say what you deserve? Only god can answer that question, and I don't even pretend to know what only god can know.

Love or solitude...? Again, a value judgement that I cannot make. However, I will say that while it is not what you want, there can be love for you as a person, as a child of the universe, that is not the love of a lover. Try to find value in that despite it not being what you actually crave.

Too late? My view is too small to know. I am sorry.

Tears are a sign of humanity and a soul more often than weakness. Take heart.

Enough depends on what and who's measuring.

Honesty as much as possible, but tempered with compassion, understanding, wisdom, survival instinct.

Hope is a hard one to live with. I have tried to kill mine many, many times. One of my curses is that it revives every time, despite logic, reason, memory. Sometimes we need Mercy because we are plagued by Hope.

Now a question for you.

Did you honestly want answers from someone, even though they are not god and cannot answer except from their limited ability?

Thomas Jackson said...

This is a trip in the waaay back machine. I wanted answers from people. Yours were the only ones forthcoming. Thank you.