Diary of an Art Fiend

What I Don’t Know Must Be Shown

It’s the running that kept me silent. All the dark places and the reasons for things I wish I didn’t know. There exists a need to dominate. The fear of uncertainty like the necessity of a challenge. There, creates the need to forget. I have been good at that until now. Narrow goals along lonesome highways propagated across my time. Convinced of needing more, I fought against my forgetting. A battle gaining strength in conflict. And for some reason, today I spoke and so I stopped running.

It is so tempting to look back; to see what I’ve written; a short history of the mind and heart. Another human caught in the struggle for clarity. A clouded vision. Does it ever clear for more than an instant?

I had to move out of the city. The constant smells left me tired and frenzied; too many thoughts in one crowded place. Stories upon stories, living and dying, never breathing. Never really breathing. Today my story begins. The past is in ashes. I burned it purposefully without knowing the reason. Now I understand. The horror of myself being too much to bear. A suicide of the mind. Perhaps the body can recreate something purer, saner in its place, perhaps not.

I left the city though it has not left me. I cannot connect to the nature I once loved. My mind is filled with human creation. Culture, ideas, construction, de-construction. I feel driven to be human. To create in reflection of my era’s existence the truth of this reality that fades so quickly; the explosion in the moment of societal drama. An excursion into the heart of the buzz to extract the lifeblood or a semblance of such. The grit and grim of the moment to moment. Such heights must be vaster and more perfectly complex than the most ferocious designer drug. Would the crash be symptomatically unkind? I must be a guest for balance in the unknown.

There is a slow dawning upon the imagination, as the understood life is stripped away, that all creation is a symptom of madness. There is no truth to be remembered, only ideas that make sense. Drifting as we will, the process forever the destination, I am reminded of myself. Aware of the self I marathoned to forget, I am unsure. That is all. I am left with only questions. I think I read once that these are the answers, but what does that mean?

A man rolls a thousand miles in the name of peace and I had to get out of the city because the smells were all wrong and the mind state too manic. Looking for work was an exercise in creating personae. The most deftly executed the winner of the daily grind. All come with captivating stories to share over coffee. The best of the best can out shout an entire room of studious actors and well meaning writers. Well, maybe not so well meaning. Next season we may be so privileged to see episodes of a future land where fat is in and thin is out; won’t that be exciting.

So, now it is done. I have spoken and might now find real sleep; a sleep that revives the soul and feeds the spirit. One lacking in static dreams and confounding voices. No thoughts demanding attention, endlessly droning, meaning nothing, saying nothing that I understand. I have tired of running. My legs are sore and my will confused. Purpose unknown, night has arrived to relieve me for a while, at the very least.

(Written in 2004 while on the road in our Volkswagen van)

%d bloggers like this: