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Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Life is sometimes a creative act, all the time I suspect. From what we wear to how we speak,and what we we produce. Making babies is the ultimate act of creation.
I thought of that as I gazed at my fat pumpkin waking from her rest. She has large dark brown eyes, long lashes and big pouty lips. Not to mention her ringlets. She could be flying across the Sistine Chapel, sans her pull-up.
And I made her. Well,with God and my husband's assistance. And she speaks, yells and sings. What a wonder. She also steals what she wants from stores, at 3 that's OK- even adorable.
Today I just pondered her, and what we lose when we deconstruct life. We destroy beauty, destroy a masterpiece like Picasso did regularly.
Labels: abortion, narcissism, narcissistic
Thursday, July 5, 2007
I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.
I loafe and invite my Soul;
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of summer grass.
-Whitman
Art is a gift. Both the talent required to create it and the end-product. And that's why we yearn to know the motivation behind the "gift." A token given to assuage guilt or manipulate is much different, despite the fact the item does not materially change, than a gift given out of love and friendship.
I have beautiful gifts, I store away because I cannot bear to see them now. Gifts given to me by my mother, I just wonder about their meaning. And others I display, and cherish.
I love some artists because I love them in some way. I appreciate their gift and art,but also their life. Something makes them lovable to me. I love Jack Kerouac because he was undautingly honest and human. A favorite anecdote of mine about him:
Like many Catholics, Kerouac didn't totally fit in with either camp. The
confusion of the left and right towards him is understandable, given the fact
that as Kerouac watched the Senate "Communist witchhunt" hearings he was smoking marijuana and cheering for Joe McCarthy.
I had held Allen Ginsberg in my heart, not because I love his poetry- it's okay, but because he was decent fellow to my friend (see story) and he had an incredible vim and vigor for poetry. I oppose most causes he supported, but he sincerely believed, as I do, poetry is a force for change.
I realized the extent of passion for poetry when I read a biography of him, I Celebrate Myself.
The book is filled with his tales of activism and use of poetry to bring his ideas to the public square. His success inspired me, and I found I could respect and honor his dedication to furthering poetry's role in society, in mankind really. Allen Ginsberg to me seemed to be a prophet for poetry's vitality and necessity, like clean air or water.
Then, even before I read what confirmed my suspicion, I read of his life-long attachment to Peter Orlovsky. His life was spent trying to get Peter to have sex with him. They were lovers early on, and spent their lives attached in some manner. Peter was in and out of drug rehabs, jail and Allen's bed. But Allen never seemed to get the sort of affection he wanted from Peter. I could not tell if Peter was sexually involved with him later on, though the book did chronicle Peter's involvement with young women, when he had not depressed his sexual appetite and /or ability with drugs and alcohol.
Allen did not keep lovers around for long, save Peter. And that seemed odd. Men had fallen in love with him, offered their affections,but he moved on though he bemoaned the lack of sex in his life. Only Peter said no regularly and acted out to hurt Allen, to keep him away. Peter acted so badly in Allen's presence, he was often jailed or institutionalized.
Allen kept providing him with chances, funding his rehabs and appearing to be a very caring and decent person where Peter was concerned. I thought that, until I was walking down the street thinking about Ginsberg's odious affiliation with NAMBLA. He was, as far as I know, the only public figure ever openly involved with this organization. Even his left-wing friends eviscerated him for his public support of this group.
The author of the book writes-off his involvement in a few ways, one being Ginsberg's love
of publicity. I agree, he loved the limelight, but he also loved what he could not have. I suspect raping a pre-pubescent boy would have thrilled him, but he knew if he was caught what would happen.
Like any narcissist he couldn't stand love, God. Anyone who loved him-a few women pursued him, wanted his children- was sullied, the chase was over and anyone who loved him obviously was base ( really: honest,sincere) because he knew what he was: depraved (really: phony, lecherous, sold to the Devil).
And deeper still, narcissism is a rejection of God, for God is love. Peter did not love Ginsberg- he left him to die the night he was to keep watch during his final hours. Peter left to buy a stolen bicycle. Allen slipped into a coma that night,and died the next morning.
Ginsberg had 3000 names in his Rolodex at the time of his death, I doubt he knew many of them well. As an artist, he had the gift of seeing God's world in a few more dimensions, he had an experience of love that is creation and rejected it. His rejection as far as I can tell was thoughtful,conscientious, he wanted most of all to conqueror and discard, he feared any other god than him.
He feared and, seemingly, rejected God, that is love,because he was gifted with the ability to create, but found deconstruction safer. Because when we love, we are vulnerable, we all know we will die and often in life we die little deaths of hopes and dreams- these he wanted to control completely with his pen.
Labels: ginsberg, narcissism, narcissistic, npd, orlovsky
Friday, June 22, 2007
vanity press? cafepress?
This project was begun out of boredom, helplessness and a need to create. The Internet has allowed people to emote all over: in song; verse; pixels....so much room and so little attention span.
Is our art bad because it is published online? I have been asking these questions of myself.
Just today I received an acceptance letter; three of my poems will be published online. More exposure, but I wonder if these venues are peer-reviewed enough.
My knee-jerk response to anyone who wants me, is to question their quality. Yeah. Perhaps ,that's how I, we, ended up in this cycle. Both of us, have been rejected and toyed with by the same man. I was his friend, she, his ex-wife.
We struck up an unlikely friendship, and bonded once we realized it was him who is insane. Funny, how validated you feel once you learn he whispered veiled threats to all the women in his life, made you question your sanity and almost drove you insane.
But it was through his outright rejection of my art, that I knew he was ill. My art really set me free. Or rather frees me every day.
Labels: narcissism, narcissistic
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
psychophagic:soul eater
I believe in Good and Evil. Psychophagic means soul eating, I learned that term when I was reading about narcissism. If you are spiritual, acknowledge a soul, you know what I mean if it has happened to you. I have been insulted before, hurt like everyone, heartbroken and scared. Those experiences were all different, than this. It's as if I am a pawn in a game, involuntarily I am someones amusement. They don't bore of me when I ignore them, they up the stakes. They want a response, a reaction.That's all I am to them, a reaction. Good or bad, and they want their fix like any drug fiend.This is what it feels like to objectified and mutilated. But I keep dodging their pins, I refuse to be their specimen. No fucking way.
courting a tsunami
there's a space between my brows
where the wrinkles started
and my eyes meet
when i formulate a thought
and get into poeticspace/ speak
I furrow like farmers till
and I remember my only impressive ability is (skill?)
skipping stones until I see I've made ripples too
and courted a tsunami
been stoning myself
and the salty/guilty spray
is man-made
Labels: art, evil, good, luba, narcissism, narcissistic, poem, poetry, prose, psychophagic, self-potrait
