Autumn and the Fringers.
After trying to open up my computer that I only use for writing, there's an amount of messages telling me to do stuff that overwhelms! Electronic technology. It's challenging getting into a plethora of Microsoft instructions or Googe-yadayadayadas that I can't seem to keep up with due to the fact that my brain interprets these things with grunts and squeaks or like Charlie Brown's Mom saying "Wah-wah wah, Wah-wah wah wah-wah.". Seriously, it hurts my mind as I try to read the technical instructions that help figure this stuff out. 'Technical' definitely isn't a word that could ever be used to describe my mind. In fact, the brain cells that most people use to organize themselves were mostly all lost in the amniotic fluid that floated me inside the womb.
I laugh and wince at the same time at that paragraph. The inability to use the proper clockwork of my mind has made me work hard for any little bit of organization I've ever had. Honestly, there's an outside fringe of people like this who don't really work within normal constructs of an average society. Oh calendars. Oh time schedules. Oh remembering. I laugh again, at the O remembering! part with the same force as the title of Willa Cather's O Pioneers! I wish I knew more of these kinds of people, though I know it's challenging for us to find each other. Challenging for many reasons, but mostly we often carry a load of baggage that's been created due to our to use the clockwork properly, but that's not self pity. Actually, let me briefly touch on the self pity person for half a sec:
If someone's mental clothes are stitched of self-pity and perpetual blame, these people are not in the fringe I'm describing. Not to say that Fringers don't battle it. "Battle" being the beautiful key that separates. These people who choose to self -perpetuate their own misery are part of another fringe, the sludgy dark kind that are like J.K. Rowling's "dementors." Finger pointers. Foot stompers. Soul suckers. No, those are the ones I try the hardest to stay away from. They all actually have the ability to overcome but choose instead to live in 'it.' I have a mental image of those kinds of people, and they are frozen in time like the poor fellow in the painting "The Scream" by Edvard Munch. The sound that poor soul emits only gets louder with every time someone doesn't agree with how sorry we all should be for them, and they say "I don't trust sources that could help me." They wear their soul-sucking badges with a sick sort of pride. The inevitable rebuttal anything you say that's said aloud or in their mind begins with "well if you think that's bad..." or "well you don't know me at all." I always have a line from the film "Much ado about nothing" uttered by Keneth Braunaugh's voice saying "Come not near me" when I think of these people. Its easy for people like that to want to hang out with people like me. Empaths tend to bring them into their bosoms for a short time like a shepherd and a sheep, only before long the shepherd is catapulting herself out of the pen with as much force for distance as possible.
No, no, I'm talking about the kind of 'fringers' who actually create magic despite the fact they possibly have Victorian steam-boat trunks full of baggage. The ones who choose to radiate than to blame. The kind that perhaps are in touch with themselves in a different kind of way than a societal norm {like minus the organizing skills but have the uncanny ability to see a prismatic view of Madeleine L'Engle's personal philosophies or how Frankenstein would never have been written at all had Shelly been on anxiety medication, can understand why writing on an old typewriter is essential or how putting crystals in the dirt to 'recharge' the energy of the stones makes sense. Minus organizations isn't a prerequitory for having the soul of a poet, I'm only being silly by using myself as an example}, but basically choose to create instead of bulldoze. They seem to be happy in a melancholy way without being happy being melancholy. I really have met them, but only by the dozens. Each one is so very precious to me in some way. They know who they are, as we all have a great love between us.
If someone besides myself is actually reading this, perhaps confusedly, I should add that awkward isn't the same as being soul-sucking. If you are wondering if you're soul-sucking, you probably aren't. If you're feeling defensive, you might be.
Maybe you're someone who never gave either a single thought. I delight at this idea! Nor hold it against you. I once knew an accountant and their world is so vastly different from mine, and to be quite fair they were trying to understand an artist the same way a scientist looks at a specimen in a jar. Aren't accountants with their minds full of a language of numbers so amazing? Such beautiful planes of existence where everything makes sense in a universe of logic. If I ever gave half as much concentration to one particular thing the same way they did....well, wait...I can't. How delightful.
Back to the difference between Fringers and those who are emotional black holes, sometimes we can all go through short phases being soul-sucking though. Truly. Though I daresay most of the time it's our own soul we're letting get lost in the void rather than another's. Depression is a real thing, and it's a part of my story. My husband often lets me know when I'm there. Winston Churchill called it the "Black Dog" that visited him. The difference between needing to control what others think of us and depression is two different things though, and that's very important to remember. Though I can suffer heavily from depresson, it's a choice of character that won't allow me to stay there. And those dementors of our acquaintance....they tend to love those in depressed states and move steal what light we would have to produce even then.
Soul Suckers, well, that idea's been beat to death I hope.
Fringers. Well. They create Dreams. Cue Gary Wright, and the perseverance and thriving that derive from these people. Art of all sorts follow in their trails. Whether they are the artists themselves or the muses who inspire them. I say muse, as I'm one of those. The fellow I married is an artist, and it is my greatest pleasure to watch him stand strong on his own two feet as a philosopher.
I'm thinking of all of this as Autumn has finally come to the Brecklands, the beautiful scents of leaves beginning to decay from the rain and sounds of migrating birds fills the air. The sun shines differently in an autumn sky. Ther'es a sense of peace here that allows the chaos of my own mind to clear, and there's things that need to be thought of, to be defined. If for nothing than for myself. Perhaps for my children, who are so much like their own Mum, or maybe for my own Mum before who I am so like in many ways.
And, being a muse is as important as the artist themselves. We cannot exist one without the other.
Some are both.
I laugh and wince at the same time at that paragraph. The inability to use the proper clockwork of my mind has made me work hard for any little bit of organization I've ever had. Honestly, there's an outside fringe of people like this who don't really work within normal constructs of an average society. Oh calendars. Oh time schedules. Oh remembering. I laugh again, at the O remembering! part with the same force as the title of Willa Cather's O Pioneers! I wish I knew more of these kinds of people, though I know it's challenging for us to find each other. Challenging for many reasons, but mostly we often carry a load of baggage that's been created due to our to use the clockwork properly, but that's not self pity. Actually, let me briefly touch on the self pity person for half a sec:
If someone's mental clothes are stitched of self-pity and perpetual blame, these people are not in the fringe I'm describing. Not to say that Fringers don't battle it. "Battle" being the beautiful key that separates. These people who choose to self -perpetuate their own misery are part of another fringe, the sludgy dark kind that are like J.K. Rowling's "dementors." Finger pointers. Foot stompers. Soul suckers. No, those are the ones I try the hardest to stay away from. They all actually have the ability to overcome but choose instead to live in 'it.' I have a mental image of those kinds of people, and they are frozen in time like the poor fellow in the painting "The Scream" by Edvard Munch. The sound that poor soul emits only gets louder with every time someone doesn't agree with how sorry we all should be for them, and they say "I don't trust sources that could help me." They wear their soul-sucking badges with a sick sort of pride. The inevitable rebuttal anything you say that's said aloud or in their mind begins with "well if you think that's bad..." or "well you don't know me at all." I always have a line from the film "Much ado about nothing" uttered by Keneth Braunaugh's voice saying "Come not near me" when I think of these people. Its easy for people like that to want to hang out with people like me. Empaths tend to bring them into their bosoms for a short time like a shepherd and a sheep, only before long the shepherd is catapulting herself out of the pen with as much force for distance as possible.
No, no, I'm talking about the kind of 'fringers' who actually create magic despite the fact they possibly have Victorian steam-boat trunks full of baggage. The ones who choose to radiate than to blame. The kind that perhaps are in touch with themselves in a different kind of way than a societal norm {like minus the organizing skills but have the uncanny ability to see a prismatic view of Madeleine L'Engle's personal philosophies or how Frankenstein would never have been written at all had Shelly been on anxiety medication, can understand why writing on an old typewriter is essential or how putting crystals in the dirt to 'recharge' the energy of the stones makes sense. Minus organizations isn't a prerequitory for having the soul of a poet, I'm only being silly by using myself as an example}, but basically choose to create instead of bulldoze. They seem to be happy in a melancholy way without being happy being melancholy. I really have met them, but only by the dozens. Each one is so very precious to me in some way. They know who they are, as we all have a great love between us.
If someone besides myself is actually reading this, perhaps confusedly, I should add that awkward isn't the same as being soul-sucking. If you are wondering if you're soul-sucking, you probably aren't. If you're feeling defensive, you might be.
Maybe you're someone who never gave either a single thought. I delight at this idea! Nor hold it against you. I once knew an accountant and their world is so vastly different from mine, and to be quite fair they were trying to understand an artist the same way a scientist looks at a specimen in a jar. Aren't accountants with their minds full of a language of numbers so amazing? Such beautiful planes of existence where everything makes sense in a universe of logic. If I ever gave half as much concentration to one particular thing the same way they did....well, wait...I can't. How delightful.
Back to the difference between Fringers and those who are emotional black holes, sometimes we can all go through short phases being soul-sucking though. Truly. Though I daresay most of the time it's our own soul we're letting get lost in the void rather than another's. Depression is a real thing, and it's a part of my story. My husband often lets me know when I'm there. Winston Churchill called it the "Black Dog" that visited him. The difference between needing to control what others think of us and depression is two different things though, and that's very important to remember. Though I can suffer heavily from depresson, it's a choice of character that won't allow me to stay there. And those dementors of our acquaintance....they tend to love those in depressed states and move steal what light we would have to produce even then.
Soul Suckers, well, that idea's been beat to death I hope.
Fringers. Well. They create Dreams. Cue Gary Wright, and the perseverance and thriving that derive from these people. Art of all sorts follow in their trails. Whether they are the artists themselves or the muses who inspire them. I say muse, as I'm one of those. The fellow I married is an artist, and it is my greatest pleasure to watch him stand strong on his own two feet as a philosopher.
I'm thinking of all of this as Autumn has finally come to the Brecklands, the beautiful scents of leaves beginning to decay from the rain and sounds of migrating birds fills the air. The sun shines differently in an autumn sky. Ther'es a sense of peace here that allows the chaos of my own mind to clear, and there's things that need to be thought of, to be defined. If for nothing than for myself. Perhaps for my children, who are so much like their own Mum, or maybe for my own Mum before who I am so like in many ways.
And, being a muse is as important as the artist themselves. We cannot exist one without the other.
Some are both.
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