“The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
It’s lonely in here. My mind races with thoughts and concepts I struggle to explain. Creative ideas take a number hoping to be next in line, a sold-out show it’s standing room only.
A sense of belonging could be warm and comforting if the connection were real and the dialogue reciprocal. It’s the few that understand, those who bend light and medium to create the imaginative. The grandiose experience.
We feel they are odd, strange and disconnected. Yet it appears we are all engaged with the electronic impulses that energize our flow. Colors and sounds, molten and dark. The embers of creativity fueled by inspiration. Words become paintings and noise becomes art. As we reimagine this dismal place a stomping ground of self-expression.
The rhythm of prose a collection of exacting words, painting the foreground of our creativity. Crazy, wacky, odd and weird, we find solace in our medium. Our emotions left on the canvas as we nakedly shy away, bizarre and antisocial.
Crowds praise and encourage us while we secretly cower in fear. Not to be judged only to be misunderstood.
“ Art and life really are the same, and both can only be about a spiritual journey, a path towards a re-union with a supreme creator, with god, with the divine; and this is true no matter how unlikely, how strange, how unorthodox, one’s particular life path might appear to one’s self or others at any given moment.”Genesis P-Orridge
We chose who we are and represent ourselves often poorly. Not feeling complete within ourselves we need to express ourselves outwardly. The sounds of our creativity speak volumes in our minds yet sound hollow to the ears of the status quo.
What aspect do others understand we do not know. However, our intellect and judgment is only encouraged by those who understand.
Trivial matters pain me as I lose irreplaceable time. Infuriated as I see the wasted days fade, filed as history. Tomorrow I shall overcome, stepping out into the light and embrace my struggle to be the only thing that matters. Me.