this connects somehow/missing link notes

How should I portray him on the artist’s stage?

as, artist to sketchbook; as artist to clipboard; as artist’s allegorical journal ….how Charlotte would see ….this(not Emily)….through the dream-mind of Austen but with the haunting desperation of Anaïs

or Anna Freud ….

   no through Grecian imagery and archetypes perhaps would best make sense, all things considered 

but through this artist’s prism of our times to— ‘continue the conversation ….’ left on caveman wall; swept through the doors of the underground subway those lose pages from ….what was it? those words; those dripping elusive words written on the humid fog of a train window 

beyond tethers & chains past the bunny slopes ropes

as an artist and a writer, how is it that I avoid looking at some harsh truths …. I do really wonder. I believe this is the missing link in my brain.i know this sounds ridiculous; like satire, but i know I avoid harsh truths but I know most people do. But —me….? I should know better. The real problem is, to look at the truths would disarm me to the point of a kind of self extinction. I could not mentally handle the truths. I know this. I’m not an idiot. I am consciously aware this is the crux of the reason behind why I do this. why should, for instance, why—should I avoid the sleeping monster in my closet that only awoke by some unexpected Heathcliff that for the longest time knew what it was but that was not the cause of whatever drew me.so, unexpected but how to look at the restless need to reach inside the closet because the monster is not really such a monster but maybe a bit of a beast.the weird contradictions of me and experiences that left some nasty scars has me wondering what it is I am so most afraid in there to have to keep on avoiding—is it hypocrisy?or is it only that silly thing no one should ever believe in—Stockholm syndrome trust?what a most erotic and dangerous monster

prayer to the master

tonight I find myself within the chambers of SansinGaulf —remember him, my readers? 

Those silences you fall into —you know them? he hears all those things I silently say.within my inner chambers.to go past but are caught in the snare of the boring same old threats that kept the progress of the journey former road blocked time and again 

no.i just sit in his chamber with its lush celestial, cobalt blue velvets. I don’t talk. I don’t even look at him. but I feel his gaze upon me. his ever patient gaze that never looks away.and indulges me from afar, as I well know but —I’ve run out of the energy to ….believe—?or the faith of it….possibly; I’m not sure at all….but in Sansingaulf’s chamber ….we are away from the world for awhile.So I don’t want words about the very things I want to escape from.the fierce snd terrible pain of life that is really more Hell than what thereafter may afford I’ve awaken to understand ….anymore….

“What am I do—“

I start to say 

“No—be silent and say not those thoughts aloud that will only foul your thoughts down directions we’ve come too far to be destroyed by,” Sansingaulf rises from his marble throne and walks over to me, 

but I look away…. my thoughts ….

“my daughter,” he says unexpectedly 

   perhaps unfair …. he saved her from the trap when her wing was caught ….

“don’t give up,” he says 

my thoughts 

    my silent reply—he cannot censure my thoughts 

    “it matters because there is a reason you were saved ….I have a soft spot for you, call it ….you can still have everything ….my daughter ….”

just remember those immortal words spoken by Tom Hanks:

“There’s no crying in baseball!”

sweetie; darling~still hyperventilating incessantly 

Tonight

tonight like a nocturnal, feral cat I walk the late night streets, I pass a bum along my path crossing the river’s bridge; arguing with what’s inside his fist. I step aside him by the curb and suddenly he sees me and for a moment and —seems to come to his senses as he apologizes to me.but it does not matter to me as long as he keeps his hands away from me, I walk by and continue down the road ….i don’t care anymore.I’m sick of the feeling I am caged ….and so I wander aimlessly thinking about dumb things about the world I can’t do anything about. sad things. so the sadness takes over and I walk and I walk and ….then I think about all those people ….i knew —was with …. and as I walk, I know I’d never turn back for anybody I ever was with and foolishly hung up on ….they just weren’t good enough really. I’d rather have more living space than be cramped by some dumb guy who could not appreciate me because they were just that shallow ….and I realize I’d never be able to just go walk in the middle of the night alone when I was involved with them….yeah it gets lonely but it’s even more lonely when you’re married to or just with the wrong guy and you know it; which was always the case for me…. it’s such a pretty night. All the stars are out 

surreal 

from the way she walks, her clothes and the way she wears her hair; the hats that hide her face; the coats that swallow her…. everything says: please don’t look at me; please go away; please don’t come near…. because they look; they take and grab and invade at every turn 

celves to self and Celf~it is just as wrong to ignore emotions as it is to be governed by them; they are meant as clues and markers on the journey; to be examined; to gauge the process; to be the teacher; but never to be the ruler nor the demon to fight