Forgiveness and Mercy

I took a few days away from the Revolutionary Writing to remember a bit about why I love life.  And to be off the stage.  For a  performer/writer like myself, this is just a new platform.  A place where I can tell all my stories and expect them to read by a lot of influential people.


I have been alarmed lately by the events in my country, and wondering what my place must be in this fucking sick game.  I would rather give up on it and go write poetry about my love for women and men and dogs and ducks and the universe and God....  the beach front.  I almost became a painter.  I love it with a passion sometimes greater than writing, but my skill level is hardly comparable.  I spent my adult life learning to write, not paint.  But painting is about the pursuit of beauty,  and the joy of the product is right there.  Research even shows looking at bright colors alone can break depressions, which is why I originally took it up.  And it was true.  Smoking weed and painting all night, listening to rock music and just living within the painting... I would use a lot of improvisation, allowing the paintings to go anywhere.  Sometimes that fucked something cool up, sometimes.... it sucked  Oh, well.  Who cares.  I remember those nights as magical... innocent... before words invaded and took over.  I was purely focused on making the canvas beautiful... and I take that same approach to writing... but my canvas here are minds... minds themselves, within which I am trying to insert truth, which I think has the greatest beauty of all... scientists know what I mean, or anyone who has an epiphany blast their mind.