I want to limit my blabbering-
But then new things come up-
And as Greta mentioned to me-
All the best artists show all, or at least come close.
And I'm enamored by many-
And with those many, that holds true.
Hunter and Kate and Tim and Doug
And KanderAndEbb and Stephen
And Hart and Joey and Briggle
And all the nameless ones that my brain fails to fathom-
Since it's their art that matters, not them-
At least that how I think, about my own stuff, I mean
I use a pen name, for a multitude of reasons
And the writer that made me write is adverse to that prospect
But it helps me to let go of the tides that bind
Without my real surname I can fuck around with emotions that my family would scorn for being immature
But this isn't about pen-names-
I just find it difficult but exciting to fathom that the artists I so love are as open as they are-
And although they may have hid and are hiding universes of feelings
Each of them has exposed themselves and let the beautiful blazing light of art sear into their open souls
The light rejuvenates and compels them to go on-
Well... some of them, at least...
And that goes on to something else-
So many things, actually that I don't have the eons it will take to write it all
But firstly, I still mourn Hunter: it's been eight bloody years, but never have I known of an artist I so loved who chose to leave.
It was a Hedda Gabler thing, I'm sure- Art is everything after all.
And although I believe that; occasions like this makes me not want to.
But that white light I speak of-
I feel it as an audience member-
Seeing and reading and hearing is not a passive thing; it is art in itself!
But that invigorating heartbreaking-for-the-better feeling I cry and cling to-
I just want to return the favor, in a way, as simple as that.
Life is give and take and I need to give since I've received such beauty in my time on this dirt.
And although it might not be practical-
I'm not a practical person-
It comes down to yet another quote
(I like quotes since they make me feel less alone)
"Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing."
It comes down to coping-
And though this might be hard- catharsis is harder than ignoring the problem; I've learned that the hard way-
Still, I need it.
If I didn't long for this openness and art of myself, who knows-
I may have ended up in the same state of being as the ones I mourn
But I must keep going, and it is my way to deal-
It might not be right to be this pretentious, but it is what I cling to.
And I might not ever have the guts to reveal myself entirely-
Since that, in and of itself might be my downfall-
But what I need-
Actually need is to keep pushing for catharsis and openness-
It might be the most difficult thing, but I truly count on it for survival.
Truly, dear.
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