Shaded and camouflaged under the leaves of people and things in places you wouldn’t expect are dangerous assassins sitting quietly looking at the very rare, naked and exposed foibles of society with a sword mighty yet so light it sits comfortably in the thenar spaces of their index and thumbs waiting to jab and tear into the fickle vulnerable of the so called acts and scenes called civility or society.
They appear harmless you might even shrug off their smiles on the streets while they scurry down to the paper whee they do you irreparable damage to the basis of your very existence, they are called writers, and they have walked and purged, expiated some of the heavy burden that weight you down into the drone of life, they hover around weightless like dementors looking from the bird eye-view, outside looking ini, and shaking their heads while they discount and disparage the very toil that skip your discs, herniate your pelvises, and ulcerate your corneas.
Their buoy and calm lies in the futility of existence in it’s entirety and the cloaked immediacy of that knowledge give credence to their laziness, superiority to their voices and smug to their outlook.
They know your toil and meaninglessness and they will tell you of it, through words and actions.
A writer takes a knife to the ethos of existence and lunges, questions everything and find out that the whole of life is nothing, everything is greed unto waste. They walk around so that they can see the latest trend, and completely avoid it.
A writer deserves to be exposed for He is an assassin ready to deface the currency of your very life
He looks at your from his permanent scowl and see your aimless acting as sad comedy
Oh my existential crisis, you may scream, my existential crisis, we only see a fool and laugh you scramble for smoke and hold it very ephemerally and very ephemeral you do for you can own nothing, absolutely nothing, not that child, not that woman, not that cloth, not that money, nothing. Everything will go, even you. That house you injured yourself to build will be destroyed by another man in coming years, so the next time you pop your hip thinking you achieved something, think again for one day you will be dead and those who remembered your toil will be dead too. And you will be gone, forgotten Like a smoke. you are to remember is that you are vessel a vassal of life
As a writer who know this fact all you can do is spectate at human stupidity, all you do is feel sorry for them as you see them smiling at their suffering, a woman sweeping the dust and sand on the main road at such risk will pack the dust and sand off people feet and cars into a sack so that that she can sell for a zealot interested in building a stupid fence that will only last 50 years before someone else destroys It Look at the Pharaoh's pyramid and think to yourself of what use is it today, Imagine the Israelite wasted 40 years of their lives doing what, stacking sand.
I could imagine one of the Israelite must have thought he was doing something productive, the Pharaoh must have heave sighs of relief and confidence of a job well done, Well where are they all today (dead) Nothing absolutely nothing matters.
As writers we are stilled in that bastion of strength (futility knowledge) and we allow the uselessness of our existence calm our minds, reduce our toil and increase our moment to moment appreciation of our lives and practice an eudamonia and mindfulness to this acting we call living.
So when people ask me where do you get your inspiration, we answer “ from nothing the source and end of everything - the Futility that’s our buttress and buoy”.
So when are stilled in this lacquer, You as a writer are prompted to go anywhere just so you can feel pain, wring your body and learn something, something only the pain of disappointment can tell, only the ache of a knee can say, You become free to live like the wind to learn words only gotten from the break of a heart, you go there sometimes even at the risk of your own life
Nothing Is a loss, everything is gain. Like a branch in a river you are to never fight it, but keep on moving for everything feeds you. You have to go there even when it makes no sense to you, you have to go there to collect the ether information and when you obey the erratic nature of your mind and succumb to it It tells you to jump and do without thinking
Most times it can be eerie masturbation that leads to the sleep that opens the eye to the warning dream It could be the sex, as an artist you are a master in the undoing of the self
You can be anything at anytime.We get our information from smell, from action and inaction
(The warmth of acts ) You do as you are told and your experience is rewarded when you find yourself writing. Our study is the outdoors that why we walk, that’s why we travel that’s why We interact with people form all walks of life and collect so many ideas that mesh up our genius.
Most times we get all our information from the look of a face
FACES AS THE BEACON
Faces are the pathways of life, gotten from the master conductor, the tree of the soul, for there are only a number of face that can be gotten from the mixture we have today, So you best believe that someone somewhere looks like you and behaves just the way you do. In my poem The hair and the strand, I posit that there are just so many faces that the mind can create, because when you look at the movie Cloud Atlas, you will see that regardless of the lifetimes that they had, they had the same face, Because it is through the face that they are able to locate each other and love one another across lifetimes. You wonder why certain faces feel familiar and why they tend to be born in the same zodiac sign element as youo, ( you could be drawn to someone and find out that you are both water signs)Faces are the pathways of life. It is the reason why you are drawn to a particular face, the reason you can kill for a particular face. For when you look at sex, it is just a blur, an answer to nature’s call, why then do we particularize it to a certain someone, Yes because of that person’s face. We are drawn to it, sometimes not caring about fecundity, We are drawn to it because we have seen it before, we are drawn to it because we have been either friends or lovers in a past life.
And when you know that the face of a person is the face of tje person’s mother or father, it make you wonder how some people can be so stupid to hate someone for being a homosexual when the face that you claim to be attracted to is the face of a man (read the queer in us all )
The face must not be changed for they are what guide us to each other in all our past life and the recurrent return to the playground earth. So that, that someone will see it someday and remember it, and be spurred to do something, they awake the sleeping agent in us, they rewire us into action and bring calm and joy to our inner soul, that in a vast vast world like this I am still being directed and guided by this face showing me that I am in the right part, in whatever part I take, it is the face that we see and become calm and stop our looking for we have found the half of us that was taken from us. You best believe that Adam and Eve had the same face.
The face is the answer, when we see it we know that this is the person I have been waiting for.
Charlie Chaplin saw Oona and said, I have been waiting for you, but it wasn’t her because she was the face of the girl he had left in England when he was much younger that’s why he had eight children with her and left all those women he had been messing around with.
May we find our faces for there are so many of them for you see a face and it looks destined, and for a relationship with you, The oblong face with the proud big lip of the African, obviating that these surgeries and modification is a lie, for your face is your beacon
Confirmation of a relationship in a past life, for who can determine what we are drawn to yo, why you, why now? Why are we attracted to a particular kind of face even when we watch porn why are some faces our preference why a particular skin color?
For a face is a direction a face is a beacon sometimes you make life and death decisions just on a face
And as the face direct us, it never leads us to gain or loss. It just motivate us to the action that strikes the pendulum the spark, the turmoil the chaos, the action. For the writer, the face is everything or absolutely nothing
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