The Writing Never Stops
True writers - the ones who are really writers in every ethos and thumbed corner of their dusty beings - are always writing.
Always composing. Always notating. Always typing - Forever, the thoughts entwine inside the spools of their ever-churning brainmills and suddenly, tapestries of colours that can't be described are formed.
Sadness is an important thing to wrestle with. We can never fully be who we want to be or who we strive to be in this life. All of our affectations and desires amount to winding smoke trails and restless sleeps.
Yes - we may never get what we want. We may never arrive at that shiny, magical destination that we have craved for so long in our mind's eye.
But who we become - THAT is unavoidable and a thing of raw, unfettered beauty.
That can't be altered - it just happens.
A good friend said it best to me once, in a dimly lit, Toronto hotel room at 4 in the morning: "Ma-Keck - as an artist, fucked up is where you need to be".
As an artist, and a writer, it's sad in a sense, but I long for the heartache. I long for the suffering. I long for the journey that we all must undertake. I long to lose friends and to see how the pain will all shake out. I get a jolt out of poking holes in the fabric that so many people dress themselves with.
Sure - the journey sucks. And it's going to kick the shit out of you and bloody up your soul - but it's going to bring about change, realization...and possibly even revelation.
We can't go back to way we were but we constantly try to find ways to get there. Why? Do we get closer to birth as we get closer to death - or do we just understand more in a reflective sense?
Some may say that writers are self-obsessed and narcissistic. This may be true - but I'll happily be obsessed with myself as long as it makes me self-aware.
And the writing never stops.
