when a man, such as I, loses focus...

for some reason I can't live with uncertainty, it paralyses me. yet I never am certain of anything in this world, as I transit from one scene to another, redefining myself as I see fit, in order to fit.

these turbulent highways of desperation, as I seek to provide and stay alive, become a cause of deep focus, causing me to cling onto myself, often losing what I have, if only to keep me from losing myself, completely.

I've lost 2 significant others along the way, this way, being incapable of grasping and keeping all things, including those who do not wish to be kept. I've concluded that the goal of others is rarely to allow one to be, but eventually to assume all control in all things, even subconsciously.

No longer fooled by the illusion of the better unknowns I'm gradually learning to keep myself pure, whilst contented in the warmth and brightness of the daytime sun and the company of like minded peoples.

foremost in this pursuit are my daughter, some brighter colleagues, a few, choice purveyors of artisan food delicacies in my abode of London's Greenwich Town. I eye daily a pile of canvases in my studio, which call to me, each day, to be smeared in my thick, gooey gore, in a fashion that screams forth my heart.

I hit a point in life, when the fear and the anger peaked and I couldn't continue without destroying myself and everybody around me, if only emotionally. but now I'm free from most normal encumbrances, with mostly the daily drive to breathe and hold my countenance, in the face of the ones who'll never understand my mind, which is mostly everybody I'll ever meet.

I could write more, and forever, and I probably shall.

Sometimes people... #poem

Sometimes, people cut & run,
That's how, they say, goodbye,
Sometimes they use you,
Just for fun,
Then leave you, asking "why?".
It never was a talking point,
The way, you made them feel,
Emotion, and its tired disjoint,
The only thing that's real.
Commercial thoughts,
Of gain & loss,
The stifled names,
And who's the boss,
We leave the fame,
The work is tossed,
We never are the same,
And we'd do it, all again,
But, for now,
Just feel the loss,
And how, they were, once here.

The Cliché : the "I never wannabe like them, person"

Whenever we say "hope I'm never like that guy", we better watch out, in case we became that guy.

I always remember my study of the kings of Israel, when I noted, with help, that they all seemed to start quite well, then somehow degrade into some terrible, sad embarrassment, to God, their people, and themselves.

The irony is, we become the failures of the world, in so many ways, because human nature always brings forth, the same kind'v things.

Other times

I always think back, at moments like this, to the scene in Madmen, when the guy with the beard & the pipe has a schmoke in the office, and as a result has the best creative idea of his career, only to forget to write it down, and then to completely forget the idea, by the time Don Draper arrives.

I also love the way Draper immediately sympathises, saying he hates the times that same thing has happened to him.

The dreadful setup of the blogger app has plagued me with several crucial instances, in which I've found myself doing the self same thing - pouring out my heart, upon the page, only to change apps & to return to find no trace of the golden work.

The interaction, of late, is between the hardware - my #Samsung #s4 - always - the main faithful piece of equipment since the worldwide letdown of the whole world by Blackberry following their overselling of the replacement Bold handset, which was simply unable to take the beating from my thumbs.

When the #Blackberry network collapsed one week, I desperately defected to android - with the help & influence of the one known as Barticus, who'd recently acquired his own S4.

Another, old friend from New Zealand introduced me to the all new technological concept of swyping, not typing, and my life & writing changed forever, once again.

I stayed with my S4, because it was not only fit for purpose, but also permitted me to remove my own battery in order to fight inevitable, lithium degradation.

Everytime the charge starts to fail, I just send off again for a couple of new batteries & all's right with the world. And, so, the flow just keeps on.

Engaged...

Following my recent return to my search for meaning within the practical confines of the daily life, I'll likely also be returning to the daily (hopefully) production of my thoughts in text, here and elsewhere.

The muse, and there are many, present themselves, always willing at first to stoke the artist's flame, but always with the motive to make something according to their own design, with themselves at the centre.

My conflict is between my life & theirs & this inextricable domination that sets in, always attempting, sometimes unknowingly, to inject their sentiments & song into the work.

Only M encourages, never imposes.

The struggle of the artist & writer is lonely, with some admirers, for which I'll always be grateful. Gone now are the commercial quid-pro-quoers, who traded shoutouts-for-shoutouts, never equally, mostly resulting in me publicising shit, just to get my voice heard above the din of sub-standard, indie crap. Even if I'm unheard, and unheard of, by the time those curtains to the furnace part, it'll have been worth it, just to have kept my creative integrity.

If the basis of the creative relationship in which one finds oneself, is brutal, open truth & honesty, then that is the deal, forever. The problem with some, is that it's their strategy to reposition the goalposts. They always change, whereas I never do - not intrinsically, or essentially.

I will go on. I have to. After spending many, repressed years of literally hiding my true self, only to be continually forsaken, by those who claimed to love me, but who didn't get back from me what they wanted, or felt they deserved, I'm better alone.

My journey...

The last few years have been monstrous, yet also a time of growth, in some quarters, & of I'm honest, decline in others.

I guess one deals with oneself - i guess I deal with myself, or I don't. Mostly, I've been just surviving, I suppose, on my level.

I've been so focused the last 3yrs, on not cocking up my main paycheck, again - after last time's, hugely regrettable proceedings, which so badly impacted on severe mental health issues that were already dogging me.

The 3yrs of depression, in which I clung onto my sanity, like it was a piece of driftwood, as I careered into sobriety, and out of the dysfunctionality of a marriage that was, for me, becoming quite restrictive, unhappy and unfulfilled.

This time, I like to fantasise was my blue period, in which I became more like #Picasso. Of course, he wasn't much when it came to taking care if women, either.

How to be an Artist's muse - 001

Having seen some of the bizarre happenings lately displayed on my timeline, I felt a burden to discharge some of the thoughts I've been having about a lesson I've learned, concerning what it is to be a "Muse."

Many women in particular love the acquired status of being identified with those who are, essentially, not only special and different, but also, unavoidably conflicted personalities.

The artist bears the need to be artistic. What they need, is inspiration. This series will tell budding and ambitious Muse-wannabes how-to, from personal experience....