I carry with me the magic of light dancing on a stream in a handful of glitter,
I remember the dusky clouds each time I pass a hand through my sunset hair,
The life and aroma of the hyacinth I keep close to my nose in an unbroken circle,
The beauty of love I carve into my skin, that my heart may be kept aware.
You may not see or hear or perceive the world that I do around me,
Or maybe it doesn’t mark your outsides, like patina, as it does to me.
But all that I am reflects my connection with the majesty and glories of this world.
Yet you look back at me, and say what you see is a person who is clearly- unnatural.
I write about the inner struggles of the individual; the pains of the soul, mind and heart. Is this because I am insensible to the struggles of society? Quite the opposite.
I believe that systemic persecution, oppression and inequalities arise out of damages unhealed in the lonely, singular being. Repair the damage in the man, and you prevent the damage he may do to a nation.
Modern rhetoric, with its dependence on pithy memes and ‘top 10’ lists, homogenizes the population, then offers generalized, flippant solutions to complex dysfunctions. No longer are you ‘John Smith’; you’re a ‘leftist, millenial male’ or a ‘conservative, white-collar Christian’, and once you’re categorized, certainly prescriptive guidance can be offered that applies equally to everyone of your ‘type’.
Our singularity is lost in the generic character of our problem-solving.
As an artist, I focus on the small wound, on the crack that becomes a break. In stories of failure and misfortune, I don’t indict; I console. We have all fallen short. I seek to examine where the trouble began, retrace our steps, and do better next time.
If you see yourself in a character, or hear your tragedy in a song, or watch your inner demons dance in a poem, you know that you are not alone.