My Art

The Nature of Pain

I've felt immense pain twice in my life. The pain consumed me both times. Pressing down around me, suffocating me. At first, I tried to escape. Manipulating, lying, desperately trying to find relief. When that didn't work the panic set it. My heart raced as I felt the pain close in on me with no hope of release. I was forced to endure it day in and day out. Each morning I would wake feeling numb from sleep. Each morning I felt agony as the memory of the painful events took hold again. Every so often the pressure would build and I would sob for relief. My mind was on auto pilot, living one day at a time, every day a struggle to keep moving. This lasted several months. Then the pain began to subside. The first time I emerged covered in emotional scabs. Hard covers that kept all strong emotion out. This was my defense against future pain. Does this mean I felt nothing? Of course not. I felt love again. However, the love was guarded.  The depth of my emotion hidden from those I loved as well as myself. I stayed this way for years. Then the second painful event occurred. The scabs were ripped clean and my world closed in once more. This time a curious thing happened when the pain began to fade. I noticed that instead of scabs, I was left with soft scars. Reminders of the pain yes, but healed. No longer festering. I take with me the memory of both great pains. I know I will experience the pain again. Yet I feel hopeful knowing I can now experience great love as well.

Dat Glimmer, Doe

I recently had my world smashed to pieces. Everything I defined myself by and everything I enveloped myself in was stripped away. I was left raw and open for the world. As a cold, unfeeling monster I had layers of armor made of apathy and even disdain. I could not be reached by anyone, not even my children whom I refused to reference in this blog. When my armor was destroyed I was suddenly able to feel everything I had shut out. Overwhelmed by all the pain I was in, I shut myself away from the world. I had to find a new kind of armor to keep them out. I could not walk amongst people if they could connect to me. The only problem, I had nowhere to hide. I had based my entire self identity on another person and when that person left I was naked and alone with no one to cover me. I reached out to an old friend. By all rights she should have turned me away. We hadn't spoken in years and here I was crying on her doorstep. She took me in, she held me while I cried, she told me to get back up and find my place in this world. Slowly, I began to venture out. Trying desperately to replace my missing armor at first and failing miserably. I began to realize that I could connect to others. That my once distant observation of those around me could become something more. I saw my children for the first time. I saw them desperate for their mother to show them love. I had so accustomed myself to alienation that I had sealed myself from them as well. Little by little, I allowed myself to feel for them. The more I let myself feel, the easier it was to control my temper with them. We started to talk. They shared stories of their life with me and I felt the warmth only they could provide me. I realized that I had let my fear of showing weakness completely block out my ability to love. I will spend the rest of my life making that up to them. They deserved more. I saw that the person I had entwined myself with was a cancer that was eating me from the inside. The further away I got from this person, the more I began to see myself as my own person. I now know that I have much to give to those around me. I know now that I can love. That what I had before was not love, but sick devotion and fear.

To Whom it May Concern

I haven't done the right thing because I wanted to in a long time. I do the right thing because I don't want people to hate me for doing the wrong thing. I do it so I can say I'm a good person. I do it, because it's the right thing. I don't get that warm, fuzzy feeling from knowing I'm on a righteous path. Instead I feel empty. Like a shell of a person compelled to move forward. Taking direction from society and following the accepted moral code. Is this to say I feel good doing the wrong thing? No, I can't say that feels good either. Right or wrong, it all feels the same. It all feels like nothing. I lack the connections to engage.
What drives me is the hope that someday I'll begin to feel. Maybe I'll meet someone or have some epiphany. Maybe someday I'll be plugged in and the right thing will bring joy. If I pretend to be a good person for long enough, will I become one? If I feign emotional attachment, will I feel it?

Fragments Make None Whole

How does an individual continue moving forward when they lack essential components of a soul? There seems to be a common consensus that a person like me, one that is lacking in these pieces of an extremely complex puzzle, is successful if their actions are not defined by their vacancy. If the individual seems to respond to their peers, follow some semblance of a moral code, and maintain an outward appearance that suggests mental stability. I have learned all of these behaviors. I mimic human emotion almost as if I experience it the way the majority of the world does. I do this through extensive self monitoring and observation of those around me. It's almost like standing in a crowded train station, watching passengers board and depart, and knowing every intricate detail about their destinations, desires, goals, and dreams. They pass by me and make idle chatter, appreciative of my interest in them but never realizing that I haven't boarded any trains. I've no investment of my own and therefore no common ground with any of them. Why then, do I bother to show up day after day? To watch them pursue their ambitions? To cheer them on? Certainly not the last as I simply don't care about any of them.

Have you figured out which parts of my soul are missing? I do not cry for sad stories on the news. Nor do I feel compelled to relate to another. I am not interested in the comings and goings of strangers. Gossips serves to entertain for a short period of time, but not enough that I should wish to repeat it. I understand the need to assist when someone needs help and feel compelled to do so from time to time, but I do not do it out of caring or kind heartedness. I do it because I have conditioned myself to respond as if I gave a shit. I am emotionally invested in six people on this planet. I can not include my parents in this group. Cutting ties with my mother has not bothered me in any significant way. She simply does not exist for me anymore. I do not hate her or love her. I do not care. I can not include myself in the six. My feelings on the value of my existence extend no further than how that existence affects the six. I would do anything for those people, beyond them I simply drift through the station waiting for them to need me.

This existence, devoid of connection, is what I imagine Hell is. Does this mean I an in agony? No. I am in nothing of the sort. I experience little pain. I experience little joy. Simple joys that one might take for granted such as a holiday party at work. I avoid these things. I can fake all the proper pleasure for these events and I have tried desperately to feel this pleasure, but I simply can not. What I can do is observe all the emotion, connections, and joy that I will never be a part of. So I avoid these events. As my commitment to the facade fades people begin to notice more and more my strangeness. (Alien might be a better word than strange.) I find myself in a position of confusion. Why have I wasted time blending in? Why do I push forward? In the past it's been a ruse,  a way to make it appear that I have a goal for my purpose. That I am working to achieve a definitive role in society. Truth be told, I want no role here. My motivation for now remains the six.

The Blackend Soul Wanders

The days grew tiring as I sat in my fortress and watch the inhabitants of the wasteland. Many, far from the Queen of Beast's court, struggled to find their way. The wasteland is a harsh land and the monsters that reside there are a hardened people. Too many families follow the Queen's example and consume their young for survival. Some even consume them for pleasure and others for status.

Among the broken children of the outlying lands lived the blackened soul. His mother was one of the few not corrupted by the sickness that filled the land. She dulled her pain using chemicals and potent alcohols, corrupting her body but allowing her mind to survive. She bore one offspring and one offspring only. Though she cared for him ad tried to protect him, the wasteland is no place for the fragile. The blackened soul's Lord was cruel and selfish. His son was his status and shown to others as proof of his virility. His son was nothing to him more than what he could gain from his presence. The Lord's followers tormented the blackened soul and sent him back to his mother cracked, easy to shatter, should any further pain be inflicted. Pain, however, is the very essence of the wasteland and pain is what he received throughout his life.


I heard stories of the blackened soul through one of the friendly inhabitants near my fortress. He told of how his music was beautiful and transported one to the lands beyond, if only for a few moments. I often wondered about this beauty, how could anything in this desolate place evoke color or emotions beside fear and anger? I soon received word that the soul was wandering in my direction. When the soul arrived at my fortress, I saw his beauty was not only in the music he created but in his very essence. His battle torn skin was only made more enticing by his beautiful saddened eyes and dark hair as deep as the vast universe. I was unable to speak as he walked slowly up to my fortress. We shared a glance, then sat down next to each other in silence and remain there at the fortress wall for weeks. Then one day we looked at each other and share a revelation. Our broken souls were bound together from this moment forward for better or for worse.

Prince Among the Broken

In the queen's wasteland, favored offspring can gain favor and rise in rank among the broken. Three of the males have achieved a rank that has made them untouchable by all but the queen.

The oldest is quiet, intelligent and beautiful. He has a kind heart and is all together too gentle for the queen, but favored nonetheless. His time away from the pain is spent learning and exploring all the wonders beyond the wasteland. There was a time when he wished to venture out and create more beauty in the lands beyond, now he is content to just observe. He has always been good to me. Never a harsh word or a violent action. My observations of him have taught me the importance of patience, though I do not seem capable of utilizing this knowledge. I have learned through him that true intelligence is simply a desire to continue to learn. The rates at which we process the information may vary, but so long as we are willing to continue progressing we can all become intellectuals. He has long since settled into his rank and accepted the queen's rule.

The second oldest is charming, stubborn, and insightful. He is dearest to me. He seeks to cleanse the wasteland and in it's place create a thriving paradise. His determination to succeed is outweighed only by his dismay at his failure. Things do not grow in the wasteland, they never will until the queen is removed. He raged against the queen's rule for many years. In his desperation to receive genuine affection from her, he tried to defeat the evil that lives inside her. Then he tried to call attention to her evil, so that others might help him. But the wasteland cannot be seen by those in the lands beyond. Their eyes reject the truth and see only what they wish to see, or they simply do not see it at all. He has joined the lands beyond and adopted their ability to no longer see. He has forgotten his time at the wasteland. He visits me there from time to time, but he no longer tries to create. He only tries to teach me how not to see.

The youngest is a little older than me. He has been shattered and rebuilt in the queen's image. He is the Prince among the broken. The queen was able to consume him at a very young age. The prince is twisted, angry, and manipulative. He has the queen's ability to camouflage his evil and evoke sympathy instead of horror. He aided the queen many times in her attempts to consume me. The queen has trained him thoroughly, though his intelligence is not something he pursues and he often allows his evil to be visible to the lands beyond. The pain he inflicts is not lasting, as the queens' is, but its initial impact is far more brutal. Images of him burn into my mind. Images that will never leave me. Memories of pain inflicted do not hurt now, but nearly destroyed me then. When the queen is removed from her throne at last, the prince will destroy himself.

Queen of Beasts

There is a beast that reigns over all others. She sits atop a pile of her own disregarded spawn, gorging herself on the young. Consuming them from the moment they leave her womb, she destroys them until they thank her for it. This kind of consumption must be gradual. It starts with affection, they must bond with her. In order to start the feeding process they must trust her completely. They rely on her for sustenance and security. She keeps the other monsters at bay.

Once they truly believe she loves them, she starts to pick away at them. Starting with their confidence  "You'll never be able to achieve greatness", she tells them. They believe her, because why would she lie? If they will never be so powerful as her, there is no reason to leave her side. And at her side they stay. Then she begins to consume their beauty. Leading them down paths of self loathing. Encouraging them to scar themselves so as not to shine brighter than she does. They can't see how ugly she is, the illusion has taken hold. How could they ever be as amazing, powerful, or as special as she is?

From here she will choose her meals. The females are to be shoved aside and squashed before they can try to claim her throne. The males she will consume, first sanity and then flesh. Tearing them down to shells of what they once were. She makes them believe they are insane and therefore drives them to insanity. Once they have lost their grip on reality she begins to devour their flesh. Innocence is removed so thoroughly, they begin to see themselves as her king. The beast has no king. It has no equal. The evil inside this pitiful creature is deeply rooted.

Her gluttony has made her lazy and as she grows older she misses the finer details. The female young she has so casually discarded has found a small tunnel to observe her from. She waits, learning. She will find a way out and leave the beast behind. She will evolve armor made from the scars she has been given and she will tear the beast limb from limb when the opportunity presents itself.

And From This Crevice, I Shall Watch

Inside some fortress I seem to have dwelt for my entire life. Watching the tale unfold, never joining the plot. At first just a tunnel, where I cowered scared and quiet. As the monsters took residence in nests outside my tunnel, I watched. I observed them at their worst. I learned to mimic their behavior. I suppose I thought if I could learn to be one of them, they wouldn't turn on me.

For a long time this worked. I watched their hatred and their ugliness manifest and I stayed safe. Hardened by what I saw I refused shelter to others hiding from the monsters. They were weak, they did not have a fortress like mine. There was no need to save them when they could not save themselves. As I matured and became a more of a monster myself, I began to engage my enemies. Pride and the illusion of invincibility made me attack again and again.

No matter how many bones were broken or how many pieces of my soul torn away, I got back up. I fought and I earned my place among the free. Leaving my tunnel to decay I moved on to build a more impressive lair. A solid foundation of pain and destruction, hardened over for lasting strength. Proof that I was a survivor. Great stone walls to shut out the weakness that could tear my fortress down. Endless rooms of doubt and fear to confuse my enemies.

One by one I pushed the monsters back. Made them leave, made them respect the freedom I had worked so hard for. If it took pain to make them run, I would inflict it. If it took indifference, I would retreat to my fortress and imagine they never existed. My strength has grown to such proportions that only I can bring myself down. And bring myself down, I will. Because the only monster remaining, is me.