The Artist Occasionally Known as…
What’s in a name? (Besides a handful of letters?) I have never been able to answer that one with any appreciable meaning myself, which is probably why I have changed my nom de plume so often. Throughout the many manifestations in this lifetime. When something means nothing, what does it matter the name that it carries?
But who is the artist behind these many names? Indeed, is the moniker of “Artist” a fair one? Or am I simply “a poor actor strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage” taking on the role of the artist? In truth, the latter seems more likely…
I must confess, however, it is not a difficult part to play. The only requirements that I have been able to clearly identify are for one to be possessed of a modicum of wit coupled with the irrepressible need to comment on the world at large under the misguided impression that anyone gives a shit about what I have to say. In truth, even that quality can be satisfied with a bit of self-delusion or, lacking that, simple arrogance. Alas, as it always follows with me, nothing is ever simple.
I suppose it can be said that who I am is a hotly contested debate. Most are content to disbelieve, to file me away with tales of tooth fairies and Santa Claus, which, really, serves my purposes well. I prefer to be thought of as a Figment of an Aberrant Imagination as opposed to a warm and vital creature of flesh in blood. I would rather be the lurker of closets and corners of mind than something that can be pushed, stamped, filed, labeled, categorized, disavowed and shuffled through the bureaucracy that life tends to become. Better to be the ghost in the machine than a cog worn smooth by pressure and time, to be replaced, discarded and forgotten.
Odd, isn’t it, that in this slicked-out world of the fast food here and now, in this world of take what you can when you can, in this “Show me the Money” and permanency of plastic society that it is the ghost stories told at the campfire side, it is the unseen, the incorporeal, the enigmatic and the immaterial that dazzle our imaginations throughout the course of time? Isn’t it strange how that which we do not know, that which we cannot label persists and becomes, it its own right, immortal?
That being said, is it not understandable that I wish to remain anonymous?
What’s in a name? (Besides a handful of letters?) I have never been able to answer that one with any appreciable meaning myself, which is probably why I have changed my nom de plume so often. Throughout the many manifestations in this lifetime. When something means nothing, what does it matter the name that it carries?
But who is the artist behind these many names? Indeed, is the moniker of “Artist” a fair one? Or am I simply “a poor actor strutting and fretting my hour upon the stage” taking on the role of the artist? In truth, the latter seems more likely…
I must confess, however, it is not a difficult part to play. The only requirements that I have been able to clearly identify are for one to be possessed of a modicum of wit coupled with the irrepressible need to comment on the world at large under the misguided impression that anyone gives a shit about what I have to say. In truth, even that quality can be satisfied with a bit of self-delusion or, lacking that, simple arrogance. Alas, as it always follows with me, nothing is ever simple.
I suppose it can be said that who I am is a hotly contested debate. Most are content to disbelieve, to file me away with tales of tooth fairies and Santa Claus, which, really, serves my purposes well. I prefer to be thought of as a Figment of an Aberrant Imagination as opposed to a warm and vital creature of flesh in blood. I would rather be the lurker of closets and corners of mind than something that can be pushed, stamped, filed, labeled, categorized, disavowed and shuffled through the bureaucracy that life tends to become. Better to be the ghost in the machine than a cog worn smooth by pressure and time, to be replaced, discarded and forgotten.
Odd, isn’t it, that in this slicked-out world of the fast food here and now, in this world of take what you can when you can, in this “Show me the Money” and permanency of plastic society that it is the ghost stories told at the campfire side, it is the unseen, the incorporeal, the enigmatic and the immaterial that dazzle our imaginations throughout the course of time? Isn’t it strange how that which we do not know, that which we cannot label persists and becomes, it its own right, immortal?
That being said, is it not understandable that I wish to remain anonymous?
- Last seen on Nov 13 11:48 PM. Member since June 30, 2004.
- I'm a malachite opening poet for 440 comments.
- My mood is , and quote is "Arbadacarba, saxarba, sucop sucoh...".
- I am a girl (USA)
- When I'm not writing, I'm a Oracle and Creator of Universes.
- Visit my homepage at the-7th-world.blogspot.com/
- I have 440 comments, 2 contests, 2 columns, 36 poems, 1 story
My Poetry
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A Conversation Between Love and Death
At the edges of Time, in a far distant land, -
Lying in eternal rest, cold hands folded on your chest,
I contemplate the senselessness of violence. -
The incessant drip, drip, drip had proved effective in fostering the insanity that had threatened to overtake him these last few hours. It had not been nearl
My Stories
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The Fortieth Day
As his limousine snaked through the narrow boulevards like a leviathan through the waves of traffic that crowded the rain-soaked streets, Lucas Ferrell thou2038 lines, 3 comments, June 16, 2005. In <200 lines, Other
Guest Book
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Ellis on January 6, 2006I love movies Dominangel.
Where have you gone to, Dominangel?
Do you like the new King Kong
Or do you think remakes are wrong?
THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL I like.
FORBIDDEN PLANET got it right:
Human nature, our monster within,
Is what our Christian brothers call sin.
Life evolved through birth and death
All the fittest who draw breath.
Only through the cycle of life
Could evolution have taken flight.
Yet I must agree with Einstein
Whose belief was the same as mine:
That God does not play dice with
The Universe; chance has short shift.
Being as how you create them,
Universes in your mind spin,
You know that it took intelligence
Creating this one -- and maintaining it, due diligence -
the hockey goalie on October 12, 2005i love the way you use words. it is awesome to meet someone who writes and expresses so easily. it's also too rare.
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Dimitri Elesk on October 11, 2005From what I can depict of your statements above I greatly admire your ideals and beliefs, of course I could be horribly misguided seeing words can kill the actual truth of something so delicate. In so I will keep in mind my ideas of what I see could never be set in stone less I become a part of your mind, which I never desire of anyone. I only believe your world is very interesting within itself and completely formed of thoughts that aren't simply and ignorantly guided like some people seem to cherish.
Quote:
"I think that we ARE all free to do as we want"
Your words are in a way similar to my theory Shit happens, to put it as blatant as I often do, and in so everyone has their own world to themself.
Good Luck in the contest and thank you very much for entering that particular piece. -
abernaith on September 30, 2005tamen aberro...have i just wandered where angels fear to tread? i do not know, i do not know anything except that must add you to my favorites. where are you now? mayhap afloat in the breeze? if only i caught you earlier, when your presence was still felt in AP. do come back...
Edited on Sep 30, 11:10 because ''.
