It’s so strange to me, I’ve been doing a lot less writing lately and I’m definitely feeling how it’s taking its toll on my general livelihood. For a long time, I thought that I would be ok with just writing every once in a while and keeping it as a casual thing but since I’ve gotten into the pattern of really getting into creatively making anything worth reading, I’ve found that it has become more of a cathartic experience than I had ever anticipated it being.
I know that good, true authors in the past have had a necessity to create amazing things (as opposed to a desire or a want) and I always have this feeling that my best is yet to come, but there is a part of me that feels as though there needs to be some kind of fundamental life change in order for that section of my life to come out and I can never quite put my finger on it.
And you, Dearest reader, you read on. You seem to read through it all with me, as I’m pressing myself like an expensive juice, hoping to refine the best parts of me into even better parts. And you don’t even seem to care when they’re bad, you just drink me down, rind and pulp and sweet and tang and all, there is nothing that you don’t seem to be able to handle as I send it to you. It’s an inspiring feeling to know that you just quietly scroll, I know that I talk to you quite a bit in my poetry, that you may find yourself prodded or poked, pushed or pulled by my waxing and waning attitudes and my stressful days. But you just keep taking it all in, soaking up my love and my hate like some kind of emotional sponge. I don’t know if I can quite say how important it is (or how comforting it feels) to know that there is at least one person on the other end of this, feeling what I feel.
What I try for, on a daily basis, is to find the one thing that I know, (that I think I know) that could possibly resonate with you. I hope in my heart that you will find some kind of realistic truth or discover something within my writing that will help you through your day-to-day.
It seems as though we are consistently filled with an unending hatred for the other, or if not that then at least a lack of love, and I want that to be gone, I wish it would disappear.
I’m getting to the point where I can feel myself rambling now, but I will leave you with this quote, one that I think about often. It’s a quote from the novel Cloud Atlas written by David Mitchell:
“… in a cycle as old as tribalism, ignorance of the Other engenders fear; fear engenders hatred; hatred engenders violence; violence engenders further violence until the only “rights”, the only law, are whatever is willed by the most powerful.”
– David Mitchell, Cloud Atlas
Little Spud In The Big Apple 