On Writing and Elephants
A Retrospective
We have seen enough of War, and yet a man cannot even quiet his heart enough to stop hating in his own life, so how could we ever hope to stop hating on the Macrocosmic scale? But still, we must try!
Wars are fought and defended, on all sides of a conflict, by people who see a small portion of an elephant and claim that that is what the entire elephant looks like.
If you point that out to people who are embroiled in their struggle, and they are of a virulent disposition, then they will react with scorn and attacks on your character, for so invested are they in their image of what an elephant is, that they would allow the real thing to stomp them into the ground in order to defend their image of what they think the elephant is. That is because such people are basically shit.
Being a writer is hard work. From a mental standpoint, it takes a lot of energy and inspiration comes from all sorts of things—what you have, what you lack, and the ultimate message of what your work is attempting to communicate.
I used to think I really needed a partner to support me, like a wife or girlfriend or something; but I’ve come to realize that a great deal of what I do comes from the incredible disappointments and losses I have experienced in Love, as opposed to any sort of victory.
I will say that a wild night or two is enough to keep me going, but most of the time I am alone but for the characters in my head, who keep me company, the memories of people long since gone from my life, and the pure unadulterated hatred and anger that springs forth when thinking of certain people and events that shall remain nameless but that I ultimately stew upon from time to time, occasionally capable of letting them go, but more often than not simply indulging in them until they dissipate and I am left once more alone and at peace.
I once read in a book by a Buddhist monk that one must cradle their anger to sleep, like a baby, and so I’ve tried that, but it still often wails. However, the tears are effective at making art, I suppose.
Sometimes I wonder if I will find someone who supports me in my work, because aside from other artists that I know, and occasional encouragement from co-workers and friends, there is very little in terms of support. My work sits out there for anyone to read. Occasionally, I hear word that someone has. That can brighten my day a bit. But then there is also the pushback from those who might level the same hatreds at me, and I just sort of brush it off, refuse to interact with it, refuse to acknowledge it. I know who I am and I am more or less proud of myself and most of what I have done in life. Those mistakes I might have made were ultimately necessary to get me where I am today, and I am thus proud of them as well.
I see what I can of the Elephant, and vehemently defend what I think that it is. I am basically shit too.
So anyway, there is my ultimate contemplation for the day …
Amor Fati.