A weekly feature where I fling open the vaults of past works – no matter the naivete they reflect – and revel in the making of progress!
This week’s post pick is Loud Silence. Quite a personal piece, I wrote in in a rather struggling time in my life, one that I’m not quite sure I’ve reconciled completely for though I refuse to live in regret it can be hard not to look back and wonder, or not feel a little let down in myself.
You see I was young, I was creative and unconventional, sick and weak in body but passionately fierce in heart and temper – have I mentioned that I am a rising sign Scorpio? I do have this habit of coming at things full throttle, maybe it scars people off, but, hey that’s just apart of me and another topic of interest all together so back to og story…
The long and the short of it, and without using you as the armchair psych, I felt totally and completely alone. I was so committed to my art, to my writing, my characters and the storyboard style I coined TBM, but in the immortal words of Poe “Everything I loved, I’ve loved alone.” – a saying that gave me much solace in my youth and actually first got me to pay attention to the man, yes I was one of those.
They say that extremes in life will show you who your real friends are and at that time it felt like it was one right after another. Life changing things and chronic things, they came like battering rams. My one constant companion was my creative.
Yet no one creates something to keep it a secret. At the heart of every creative there lies a great exhibitionist. For you have found something that brings you so much and you want to see it thrive, see it appreciated, see it providing not just for you for another who could be like you when you created it. Art is very much like a child for the artist you nurture, you birth and you raise it to go out into the world and make a difference. It is something that you are proud of and you want it to make you proud. You want to celebrate it!
Well for those I shared my art with I felt a lackluster response that plummeted my into the great well of questioning doubt – very destructive to the moxy needed in this kind of profession.
Was it worth it to do what I loved and be alone or be loved and half a whole?
An eternal question of a rather wrinkled, lumpy, and dirty mind…
Silence piercing air,
Alone and yet I’m scared,
For there are bodies all around,
Yet still there is no sound.
Comfortable yes silence can be
When one tries and one succeeds,
Can bring calm and sweet serenity,
Yet if one is all alone in effort there can be little left of silence comfort.
A room full of people,
And yet still alone.
A person left with no growth can be so young and yet so old.
There’s a divide in soul,
So proud and unconvincing,
Pulling, driving, forcing hand,
A disbelieving state of man.
Constant question of words brought to life,
To seem wrong or dumb,
Your fight or flight.
You let silence fall in its wake,
Concerned only with your doubt of self,
Leave alone your questions still unanswered,
Leaving the discomfort of silence persons together yet alone
You bring forth your own disaster.
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