Reflecting back on my youth until present, whether it was paint, drawing, music or writing even building and fabricating, none of it could occur without an underlying gnawing of agitation.
Agitation of the mind, heart or soul, something had to be agitated for art to manifest.
My size precedes me.
Say my name and people envision a hard time. A large guy with an ability to talk, conviction backed by brutality backed by humility, now there’s something to ponder over.
‘They can’t exist together’, you say.
Stereotypes of what should or shouldn’t be swarm your mind,
Overwhelm you until your mind collapses,
Your spirit bent over and I knee it to its head.
Beads of sweat fountain out of you,
Buts it’s not sweat,
It’s arrogance, it’s your prejudice,
It’s your lack of compassion.
I built this body on purpose! Not for show, but for purpose.
I can verbose with you ad naseum about the health benefits,
How I will outlive live the average person, how I can crush the average person, albeit all in a perfect world.
But the reason I built it, I have come to discover is to keep you all away, I had to dig that one out on my own.
Whilst your fingers jab away at keyboards,
You comment and opine,
You sit your behind,
You snort the cathartic line
Of social approval, conformist, online.
I learned to close my fists, feeling it viscerally,
Violence on flesh,
The real kind,
That’s done and dusted when one of us falls,
I don’t care for your flaws,
Man up and own them all,
Look up from the screen to see past the scores.
And multitudes of panderist’s, of safety network enforcers, of appeasers and cheer leaders.
Some people swear they are introverts,
Swear they like being alone but their guard is down.
I see their body language. They invite you all in willingly.
They don’t have the requisite guarded posture of an introvert.
Stay the fuck away from me. I’m pleasant, left alone.
Don’t come knocking and expect a half arsed attempt of insincere welcome.
Don’t come knocking expecting me to tell you my life’s grievances or what I heard or what I did on the weekend.
Don’t come knocking expecting cordiality and mutual acceptance if there is something I disagree with.
Really, I’m this big because I want to keep you away,
For your own sake, not mine.
Part of it is Gods work, I didn’t choose this height.
Maybe HE wants you to keep away.
However, the width and girth is my work.
The ability to fight you off with ease,
The ability to challenge your mind and break you down with my incessant pestering at the obsessive, compulsive details because you’re only happy if we only lament the surface trivialities,
Yeah, that’s my work too.
So step up,
Step up if you have the gall,
Talk to me, I dare you to climb the wall.
Maybe if you did, you’d be let inside and realise this large cavity I have created was to be able to house as many of you,
Securely and passionately.
Yes there is a wall, it’s high but if you have claws and feet, you can climb in, come over that wall, and be secure within its confines.
Maybe I purposely built it that high to only allow those with real drive, with sincere intentions inside.
How long you walk in the depravity of excess determines your ability to find the solace of the garden of contentment.
How does one explain what that garden is, how do I describe the tranquillity with words that are not a unit of measure for the scientifically minded, for the logically minded, for the absent minded to comprehend? I cannot.
Ali, the son in law and cousin of the Prophet Muhammad peace and blessing be upon him said ‘Contentment is a treasure chest that never vanquishes’. For one to comprehend this, one has to understand their own nature, their hidden desire or former desire to covet, acquire and amass.
Who wouldn’t love to have riches on end? Never worrying about wealth ever diminishing? To comprehend that means to have been in need either via dire circumstance or via ulterior greed and dissatisfaction. In such a predicament, satisfaction and satiation is never present. One always wants more or at least more than what one currently has, whether it is to remove discomfort of bad circumstance or to remove discomfort of dissatisfaction. The later, far more blameworthy than the former. The later is what the above quote is referring to more than the former although both are blameworthy if they subdue one’s spiritual ascension and worse yet leave one dissatisfied with their lot or what has been assigned to them.
Deprivation can serve us in a very rewarding manner if we consciously acknowledge it’s prestigious station rather than looking grimly at our lot and looking bleakly with mundane substance to the future and planning for material consumption until it overcomes our basal natures, that is to be free of all things and subservient and obedient only to God. When you can do that, the garden awaits both in this world and the next.
If silence is the absence of noise,
Then take me to the place where even silence vanishes.
Maybe there, I, will cease to exist.
How ignorant is the man who stands atop the mountain,
Bathing in his glory of accomplishment
Forgetting the sacrifice of the rubble beneath him
Lead to empty hall brains
With no lights on
But echoes of chains
The pains, the strains
The soul drained.
No we’re not at all insane
Just wanting higher plains
Trying to leave our mark, our stain
Not wanting to be contained
Trying to unshackle
Until none of me remains
And my ego does not complain
My spirit can soar, unrestrained
My attention to The Real
Not the profane, not the mundane
And I no longer feign
Franz Kafka said to his adoring Fiance
You once said that you would like to sit beside me while I write. Listen, in that case I could not write at all. For writing means revealing oneself to excess; that utmost of self-revelation and surrender, in which a human being, when involved with others, would feel he was losing himself, and from which, therefore, he will always shrink as long as he is in his right mind. That is why one can never be alone enough when one writes, why there can never be enough silence around one when one writes, why even night is not night enough.
Yes, this true! I agree wholeheartedly with him. Any writer that needs an audience to complete his work is a show pony, not a stallion of the desert of words.
We’ve got it all wrong.
We try so hard to ‘keep our head above water’ when the pearls of life are buried deep into the abyss of the ocean.
We’re ‘just trying to survive’ by killing ourselves to pay bills.
We’re ‘getting by’ without moving at all.
We’re ‘getting through school’ but our schooling is not thorough, then again if we were to hold ourselves to account, the meaning of the word is being fulfilled, people are most definitely ‘schooled’.
We’re ‘battling along’ but we wouldn’t have the physical integrity to run to the local convenience store let alone battle anything.
We’re ‘trying to find ourselves’, but this is the biggest hoax spread today, as if we’ve all become lost and we need a ten year journey to reconcile with who we are.
If the internet were invented first, people would not bother with facebook, twitter, forums and the such. Picking up the phone and conversing would be the in thing to do, better yet, meeting up in person, watching the creases of ones face move as they speak, feeling their emotion or lack thereof, watching their body language, hearing their laughter, tone and meter in their speech would be so fun, but alas we’re happy to ignore the real things. These are far too many things to co-ordinate for the modern day cerebrally severed being.
In my world celebrities aren’t real. The people who quietly go about their business interest me. Their dreams, hopes, thoughts and intricacies make me wonder. They intrigue me, they fascinate me. You want to grab my attention? Seek none and I’ll notice you.
Reminds me of a quote from the secret life of Walter Mitty where Sean Penn said – “Beautiful things don’t ask for attention”.
I love this quote by Mary Walsh. It was in review of Susan Cain’s book titled: Quiet, the power of introverts in a world that can’t stop talking.
To say I am excited to read this book is an understatement. Without spoiling it too much, the praises are never ending and it’s description is something that appeals to me.
I’m utterly dissatisfied with the status quo of my and my fellow younger generations. Their utter disregard for the quiet achiever’s resolve, focus and ability is an imbecilic crime against ourselves and one another.
The worship of the extrovert has done nothing more than create a culture so superficially void and defunct that we will be feeling the pain of our momentary lapse in the time-space of eternity for a very long time.
We will be remembered for our ignorance and our ability to purposefully dumb each other down. Self inflicted stupidity, lack of intelligence seen as cool and the praise of self-admittance to lack of literary and educational prowess are so prevalent that if you differ, you’re an outcast waiting for the barrage of psychiatrists to invent a disease for your condition.
I am somewhat saddened but feel this overwhelming urge to forge an army of intelligent people, introverts of the highest order, the ones who care not for the glamour and fame but the ones who would sit for hours on end watching an organism grow so that they can record and understand it more in the wider scope of other organism, in hope to find a cure to help if but one person, just because he or she WANTS to. The ones who will strum their guitar until their fingers bleed so they can play a riff of perfection to make your hairs stand on end, one riff, that is all. The ones who will not stop reading until they have encompassed enough inside themselves to be able to pass if only one tenth of what they know on to another generation. The ones who will not separate a relentless drive and ambition for business success from morals and ethics and fight their ego despite the pressure of outside forces in their dealings. The ones who will throw away canvas upon canvas, waste oil and wear brushes, be buried in their rooms for days or weeks to produce a visual treat.
Introverts are belittled by default, but try as you may, when the shit hit’s the fan, the extroverts don’t know what to do, it’s to the ones who spent enough time resolving themselves that we all turn to, to their knowledge, wisdom, abilities or at least their candour and calm in the wake of the storms around us.
Next time you feel like making fun of or joining in on a back-biting and gossip session about the new kid at school or the employee who drinks water instead of beer at your social gatherings or the person in the street who just doesn’t quite fit in, know that they might have a few years or leagues above you, gained only by their introversion.
Do yourself a favour and add this book to your collection.