The Rambler

Rambling ~ to talk or write in a desultory or long-winded wandering fashion.

Walt Whitman loved a good wander in his murky recesses, “Song of Myself” is by far one of my most favourite works of his mostly because of it’s transparent self-involved beauty and introspect.

Through me many long dumb voices,
Voices of the interminable generations of prisoners and slaves,
Voices of the diseas’d and despairing and of thieves and dwarfs,
Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion,
And of the threads that connect the stars, and of wombs and of the father-stuff,
And of the rights of them the others are down upon,
Of the deform’d, trivial, flat, foolish, despised,
Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung.
Through me forbidden voices,
Voices of sexes and lusts, voices veil’d and I remove the veil,
Voices indecent by me clarified and transfigur’d.
I do not press my fingers across my mouth
 Artists are solitary beings, that is a fact. Inspiration travels down our arterial highways and innards awakening singular perspectives that momentarily belong only to us before we begin the arduous process of expression for everyone else. It’s a deeply personal thing, creating and then enduring the painful exposition. I was told this blog is a conglomerate of “rambling thoughts”. While i was greatly angered by this assessment it made me consider the realm outside the writer, the painter, the creator and innovator. The realm of those who don’t understand or appreciate, who don’t see the purpose of every brushstroke in a Monet or the world underneath a single word.  I feel lucky to have the alternative ability, to see the unseen and feel the invisible. I love being an artist and will never apologize for my ramblings or declarations. It is who i am, it is the song of myself. So i ramble on and on and on….

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