| DEADARTIST Tales of Lembrook |
|
|
DeadArtist: Legacy |
|
(Monday, 20 November 2017, 2.40h, F.VT)
I am, I have always been fragmented, in life, reality, heart, mind. I am, I have always been compartmentalised, in life, reality, heart, mind, spirit and soul. It's what's kept me "here" wandering this earth. There is the "Tragic" me, which I keep separate from the "me" that I allow others to see. It's the major part of me, the bulk of my existence. It's the beatings of child-hood, packing a "Pan Am" flight bag and hooking it on the handle-bars of a tricycle and heading out, off, down the road to where-ever I might end up. The "Tragic" me curled up in the back seat of a little blue Volkswagen, parked off a back road on an emptied lot nestled in the trees, and watched as the snow fell silently against the black sky above, landing on the rear window, until I fell asleep. I'd raided the mid-night delivery of cottage cheese at the A&P and eaten it as I drove along through the night to get to Drury Lane and the protection it offered. That's part of the "Tragic" me. But in opposition, the "regular" fragment of me is what I tend to put forward, to present to the rest of the world. It's the part that the world actually wants to see. You know, the "happier" side of all things. The "hard-working" me who listens to music as I force myself through one day after another, chatting about the most shallow of topics, nothing that involves emotions of pain, nothing that involves any sort of actual, phyicial pain, nothing that really involves my own memories of anything much. Oh yes, I've slipped, every now and again, and given glimpses of the "majority me". I've mentioned the pains, to the heart and the body, to others. They've been quite honest to let me know, with-out a doubt, that that part of me is of no concern to them. So in respectful deference, I gather those bits of me together and return them to the dark corners of my own self, where they belong, from whence they come and draw the curtains of "jolly-ness, joyful, singing, dancing, working" me, and all returns to be well with the world around me. It's better that way. If I "share", as it's called of late, any truth, honestly about me, the result is that I'm surrounded by deafening and sickening whines of "Oh! MY life has been worse than yours... YOU have NO idea!" Strangely, I'm expected to have sympathy, empathy, compassion for "them" BUT those gifts are seldom-to-never reciprocated. But the bottom line is that their whining, bitching, pissing, moaning, complaining is, to me, sickening, horribly, repulsively sickening, physically sickening, really. My existence is, to me, sufficiently difficult already, I neither want nor have the patience to deal with the trials and woes of others any longer and so, I do my best to make the world around me the best that it can be and I feign caring, compassion, sympathy, and it stops the infernal whining. All is well with the world.
My closest companions have been my writings and/or sketches. Jots and doodles, here and there, more fragments. Compilations have been created over the course of my life-time, in books, on bits of paper, even on the shells along the Atlantic coast. Most are gone, lost in oblivion, very much like many of my memories of the past. Nobody cares, really. They shouldn't. They don't have to. My history, my past, all that has been and become me is of no import to any of them. But I will say that even as I sit here now, composing these paragraphs on a rather breezy, cold, dark November morning, it all does mean something to me... and it's just another part of the painful fragments of me. But they're all gone, it's all gone, and none of it is retrievable. Most, if not all of it is destroyed, as if it never existed to begin with... very much like "me".
These links are a listing of the locations where fragments of me are neatly tucked-away, out in the ether, floating about as bits of "data" on some bizarre computer in a location un-known to me, safe, for now. I don't spend any time on these "sites" because, like all the fragments of my existence, these are best left where they are... alone. The events have been recorded, the sentiments have been noted, and I have moved along. It's all very much like the old clam shells on the Tilden beach: I picked them up, sketched little scenes in pencil on their inner, smooth and shiny side, and when the sketch was completed, the meadows, sun-rises, bucolic wood-lands and the likes, the shell got tossed back onto the beach, into the sand, where it waited, with others, for the arrival of the next tide that came pounding on the shores, grabbing the bits of work and taking it all out to sea where creatures, beings who had no more understanding of the sketches than the people who'd heard the stories of my heart would casually pass them all by. The shells, meaningless to the beings of the sea, just as the "shell" of me is as meaningless to the beings of the earth.
These repositories of information are my "Legacy", they are what I "leave behind"... when I "leave".
DeadArtist This is where you are as you read. KalbahJournal *NYC8539266 Private *NYC8539266 Journals: “Bitter-Sweet Bitterness” & “Journal Days” LoupNordique From the very first moment I experienced the "North Country", it became my dream, goal, ambition to settle, in my older age, in this land, and so, in October 2011, I arrived. Here is this "fragment". Mr. G’s Roundhill Lodge The "Halcion Days" of true, patent, honest "Love and Happiness", and as with all the good and happy times and places of human existence, this too passed. But even though dead and gone, still so very much alive and vibrant in the very core of my being, especially when the music of those days plays... in my mind, on the radio, on the digital recordings that I acquire, even as time pushes it farther and farther away. 11222RBB11694 RockawayNY Rate Your Agent Open ******************************************************************* *** WEB-SITES ***: Mr. G's Round Hill Lodge:The site, built to resemble, in part, the WordPress blog, but with a great deal more music and information. Judah A. Kessler: An Author's Ramblings: A "build" taken from the WordPress blog, with a blog of its own, and personal information and commentary. JA Kessler Design: Site-Building: A site built with the hope that perhaps, one day, I might get back into the business of building sites, as I've always enjoyed doing.
|