empty
she screams at the top of her lungs: i'm whole i'm body i'm heart i'm mind i'm soul
____________________________________________
i stopped being an artist a long time ago.
i don't think it was because i didn't have anything to say. i think it was because i realized that you didn't care. sometimes you pretended to, but like many things that you revealed to me, it was a facade.
i first acquired the word 'facade' and assimilated it into my vocabulary many years ago when reading about cathedrals. i thought facades were breath-takingly beautiful. they were untouchable. angels splayed across the tympanum. pictures in story books of knights and kings, heroism and divinity.
you were never as excited as i was about the rich history of cathedrals. years later, i saw notre dame for the first time. when i think about that event of my life i still get excitement in my belly. it was like the earth on this side of the planet had an excess of something that i had been searching for - a history not present in the blank-slate landscape of my childhood. later i realized that this meaning i attach to history and monument is just another form of escapism.
i stopped being an artist because i lost someone from my life once who noticed when my heart skipped beats, when my belly stung with excitement about grandeur, when i spiritually felt someone's presence - some validation of life in general - some all encompassing swell of pure experience overwhelming my ability to abstract intellectually...
i loved without words. without abstraction. with silence. with all the silence that resides at the axis mundi of all non-being.
and then i stopped being.
maybe that explains why it's still so silent in my world. maybe that explains why i didn't say anything when i saw notre dame's facade.
i'm sorry for all the things i've never shared with you.
i still think facades are beautiful. breath-taking.
and i'm sorry that i could never make myself into a facade for you. i'm sorry for failing to take your breath away.
she screams at the top of her lungs: i'm whole i'm body i'm heart i'm mind i'm soul
____________________________________________
i stopped being an artist a long time ago.
i don't think it was because i didn't have anything to say. i think it was because i realized that you didn't care. sometimes you pretended to, but like many things that you revealed to me, it was a facade.
i first acquired the word 'facade' and assimilated it into my vocabulary many years ago when reading about cathedrals. i thought facades were breath-takingly beautiful. they were untouchable. angels splayed across the tympanum. pictures in story books of knights and kings, heroism and divinity.
you were never as excited as i was about the rich history of cathedrals. years later, i saw notre dame for the first time. when i think about that event of my life i still get excitement in my belly. it was like the earth on this side of the planet had an excess of something that i had been searching for - a history not present in the blank-slate landscape of my childhood. later i realized that this meaning i attach to history and monument is just another form of escapism.
i stopped being an artist because i lost someone from my life once who noticed when my heart skipped beats, when my belly stung with excitement about grandeur, when i spiritually felt someone's presence - some validation of life in general - some all encompassing swell of pure experience overwhelming my ability to abstract intellectually...
i loved without words. without abstraction. with silence. with all the silence that resides at the axis mundi of all non-being.
and then i stopped being.
maybe that explains why it's still so silent in my world. maybe that explains why i didn't say anything when i saw notre dame's facade.
i'm sorry for all the things i've never shared with you.
i still think facades are beautiful. breath-taking.
and i'm sorry that i could never make myself into a facade for you. i'm sorry for failing to take your breath away.
VIEW 25 of 33 COMMENTS
Sorry to hear of your woe - maybees another wee trip to Asia would revitalise your spirits...
In answer to your question, I went to Thailand, Cambodia and Viet Nam, though spent most of my time in Cambodia (and managed to get by without the Tuk Tuk driver's number you said you'd send me
Only slightly creepy? Quite obviously I'm not trying hard enough, I think I'm mellowing out in my old age. And don't worry about weird journal entries, I once wrote an entry containing a letter in which I broke up with my own penis. Everyone has their weird patches