To be honest, I don't know why I decided to start this blog.
I write sporadically, and normally only during times of significant emotional duress. Existential crises, stress, mental turmoil, and a clear view of what's actually happening in this fucked up world normally give me the impetus, the fuel I need to actually write something of worth (by my standards, anyway). Because that's the point, isn't it? The best thing one can do with negativity is to make good art. According to Neil Gaiman anyway. It's interesting to note how I find myself agreeing with a statement made by an author I have made no attempt to read or understand; but maybe that's just because he said that as a person, and not an author.
Or maybe, that's what an author, or any artist for that matter, actually is.
Not a person defined by his labels, his 'calling' or his 'aptitude' as defined by others, but just a person who can't freaking help himself; a slave to that impulse that filters a mix of reason, emotion, knowledge, memory and intuition through the shutters of his experience to give birth to something that leaves a mark, that makes a difference, at least to him or her, even if not to anyone else. Because that's the point; isn't it?
Maybe the words find the wordsmith, and not the other way around; whatever the case, they mean something. And that's all one can ask for, in a world that's filled with people willing and able to smack you down, to convince you of your worthlessness. Maybe that iota of satisfaction gleaned from expressing ideas through words, through music, through something, is what keeps us sane, allows that little, soft-yet-oft-heard voice in our heads, the one that whispers of strength, optimism, love and innocence, to survive the ordeals we subject it to.
Because that's the point. Isn't it?
I write sporadically, and normally only during times of significant emotional duress. Existential crises, stress, mental turmoil, and a clear view of what's actually happening in this fucked up world normally give me the impetus, the fuel I need to actually write something of worth (by my standards, anyway). Because that's the point, isn't it? The best thing one can do with negativity is to make good art. According to Neil Gaiman anyway. It's interesting to note how I find myself agreeing with a statement made by an author I have made no attempt to read or understand; but maybe that's just because he said that as a person, and not an author.
Or maybe, that's what an author, or any artist for that matter, actually is.
Not a person defined by his labels, his 'calling' or his 'aptitude' as defined by others, but just a person who can't freaking help himself; a slave to that impulse that filters a mix of reason, emotion, knowledge, memory and intuition through the shutters of his experience to give birth to something that leaves a mark, that makes a difference, at least to him or her, even if not to anyone else. Because that's the point; isn't it?
Maybe the words find the wordsmith, and not the other way around; whatever the case, they mean something. And that's all one can ask for, in a world that's filled with people willing and able to smack you down, to convince you of your worthlessness. Maybe that iota of satisfaction gleaned from expressing ideas through words, through music, through something, is what keeps us sane, allows that little, soft-yet-oft-heard voice in our heads, the one that whispers of strength, optimism, love and innocence, to survive the ordeals we subject it to.
Because that's the point. Isn't it?
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