11/11/2010
After a few successes and achievements you’d think I’d be celebrating but you’d be surprised at how different it is in reality.
I don’t feel balanced, my heart, head, and emotions conflict with each other because they all want different things, they all want to say things in different ways, and they all have different thresholds of tolerance.
This trinity of thought, feeling, and expression needs to brought into alignment.
Somehow I need to strike a balance, an agreement between all three.
The solution is to reassess to progress.
Sorta like acclimatising, I really need to take time out from everything.
I really need to contemplate, meditate, to formulate a plan of action.
A lot has happened, so much has happened.
I find myself giving myself pep talks all the time, similar to stay busy, focus on your goals and aspirations.
The pursuit of my goals and aspirations is a very lonely process because you retire inwards to be pensive, look outwards for signs of inspiration before diving into yourself to find an avenue to funnel your creativity through.
I feel exile is quite necessary because I really need to think, I need to find my direction again, I don’t like feeling lost.
Maybe its because for eight months out of my life I didn’t feel like the loner I was so used to being.
I’ve always become accustomed to retreating and retiring inwards rather than living life outwards, apart of the crowd, fitting in.
For eight months someone spoke the same language.
The life of a creative thinker is lonely because as an artist I often view the world through art and see life as an illusion.
The idea of time is an illusion, what we see, feel, language, signs, symbols, are all illusions.
What if I were to say the sky is not blue on a clear summers day, it is scarlet.
Every one would think I’ve lost my mind.
I’d have an army of people trying to contest my view with all their science and preconceived ideas trying to tell me what is, what isn’t, what it should be, why it should be.
They’ll try to shut down my point of view with their pre established habitual ideas, tryna force me round to their way of thinking, their ways of interpretation, constant comparisons of polarities and levels of whatever.
All of which result in suppression of my creative activity, making me scared to do anything outside of what the masses deem to be acceptable.
The only thing arising out of suppression is rebellion because what you ultimately try to force inside a big chest deep in the depths of the subconscious, will slowly seep ideas.
Ideas which escape and plant the seeds of inspiration in the conscious mind and allow you to progress.
I think I’ve suppressed everything creatively for so long that my chest of secrets has burst open.
I care not for the views of others nor the rules of convention, I spare nothing in the path of being artistic.
There comes a time when you realise everything has been an illusion, a mirage of sorts.
Rather than see what you really see, you become caught up in the smoke and mirrors, wandering.
To wander is not a bad thing as its a learning curve which inspires you to question these conventional illusions through unconventional art.
Upon observation I’ve realised that many people develop a dependency on people and possessions.
I myself am far from innocent concerning this but I’ve realised that as you gradually allow yourself to unravel through artistic means, it forces you to become one with yourself as you question all these things.
Why do you have a dependency on that particular brand, that particular possession, that particular person?
The way they make you feel right?
The way you get butterflies and tingle when you see the new collection at your favourite store, put on those shoes, see and speak to that person right?
Its an addiction.
You’re in love.
No matter how you try to break it down its relative.
Love is the biggest illusion of them all, not a negative in any shape or form but its always so easy to lose yourself in all its fruits which then become its trappings.
The way you feel, what you tolerate at the low points because you feel so good when you’re at the high points, the endless spirals of what you want it to be and believe, making a mountain out of something that never existed.
You become addicted.
Addicted to the thrills.
Addicted to the spoils of war.
Addicted to the fruits of emotion.
Addicted to the highs.
Accepting the lows.
Smoke and Mirrors.
Illusions.
Hurt.
Hurting.
Pain.
Broken records skipping over the same lines.
Freeze.
Defrost.
Detachment.
Pushing.
Pulling.
Self Preservation.
Broken dreams and self esteem.
A tarnished heart and spirit.
As much of a success the heights of love were, you still end up regretting the hurt and pain inflicted upon yourself and the other.
The emotion consumes you whilst the pheonix of resentment rises and burns everything within its path.
All bridges are lost.
All ties severed.
All letters turnt to ash.
Your words no longer mean nothing.
The diary you spent writing all that time ago has nothing left to it.
The only bits that survive are the memories, but even so the memories of the good times have become over cast by the clouds of darkness, which led to the final curtain being drawn.
It all becomes an illusion, which sits in the memories you’d rather not remember until you end up burying and forgetting.
I guess life goes on.
I guess its time to leave the departure lounge and board the plane.
I guess its time to bid farewell to the island and document my time spent through a string of odes, which politely capture all moments.
I’m going into self imposed exile.
I need to readjust.
I’ve sent a few messages.
I hope you understand.