THE ONLY WAY (12-5-85)


I guess I’ve set a trap for myself.  I have to make it as an artist.  My entire livelihood seems to be at stake.  I can do nothing else with my life.  I think I’m finding my way down to the Rimbaudien doctrine of the poet.  I’m just starting to dig deeper and deeper into the vortex.  It hurts like Hell a lot of the time but I carry on.  It’s not always very pretty but in the end it will be worth the effort.


Someday, I will find my way along to wherever it is that I am heading.  No one ever said the poet’s route was an easy trail.  It can be harsh and lonely but I continue burning the midnight lamp all alone.  I have no other alternative to follow.  I continue to dig deeply within myself.  I’m rapidly reaching the point of no return.  I will continue down the road not taken.  I will learn if it truly does make any difference.


That’s a little Robert Frost I thought I would throw in there.  Frost wrote a few poems that have made an impact on my life.  I thought I would pay my respects.  “The Road Not Taken” has been a big influence on me.  “Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening.” is another one that had an influence on me.  We’ll mention “Nothing Gold Can Stay” while we’re at it.  All classics that made an indelible impression on my soul.


I have a lot of influences.  Rimbaud has been one of the obvious ones.  Blake and Nietzsche are towering figures.  Dylan and Hendrix both fit in even though they are just rock stars.  The list just seems to go on and on.  Let’s not forget Van Gogh.  I’ve been influenced by so many and there is nothing wrong with that.  I am still my own man.  I always will be.  But there is no sin in having influences.


It’s impossible to not have influences.  No one can be totally original anymore.  I know I’m a far cry from perfect.  I am definitely not a totally original person.  I devour sources and resources that are available to me.  I’ve been touched by a ton of artists and poets and other persons.  I am discovering new influences all the time.  I seek new voices and visions to add to my own realm of thought. 


I could go on and on about various influences but that would take too much time.  If tried I would end up leaving a lot of people out.  It’s best to move on to other things.  I should get into what is going on in the here and now with my own literary output.  I can get into my own poetry.  I have been writing a ton of stuff lately.  I was losing my edge for awhile but now that sense of the poetic is raging back.  I am returning to the peak form I wish to be at.


A poet is what I am at heart.  I can’t be anything else.  I have the poetry in my blood.  I can pursue other things but the roads always lead back to poetry.  Even the prose is usually just an extension of the poetry.  Obviously I do write the prose and hopefully will make more money from it but that it is just a means to a better end.  I pursue poetry out of passion; and the other stuff is for potential financial consideration.


Well, actually both poetry and prose are vital forms of expression.  I need more than one outlet for my ideas.  There is a lot of shit going on inside.  Some things will not take the form of poetry.  I have to have as many forms of expression as possible.


I wanna let it all come out.  It’s a long hard plight and I must be persistent.  Maybe I’ll pull a Rimbaud.  He spoke of a rational disordering of the senses.  I should be doing stuff like that.  It does at times seem as though the talent is going to waste.  I guess I’ll have to start getting serious about writing.


Hell, would listen to that.  Thousands of pages written and I’m saying that I will one day get serious about my writing.  That’s a telling—or possibly damning statement.  I guess I need to be more focused on the musings.  I am accumulating tons and tons of writing and going nowhere with it.  It is now time for me to focus on transcendence.


Now I suppose everyone is wondering why I’m going off on this tangent about my writing.  I suppose it stems from a sense of pride I’m feeling because I was onto some writing today.  I popped off on another long poem.  That lends some credence to my literary aspirations.  It means that I’ve not yet given up the fight.  The ghost still haunts me and the muse continues fire my soul.  That I would suppose is gone news.  It means I am still struggling.  Ultimately I will make it to my final destination.




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