January 19th, 2003

a thin white ghost child laughed by me walking

a thin white ghost child laughed by me walking

into the salted litte air

scent rose from below

night followed me home, twisting the blackness

inside me. now white clouds like a safe snow at

night, descends on a warming chest.

now whites conspire to rid of the dire

as lips follow motions before.

give in to what could never keep us

give in to lighting the basin at the soul soil morning

passing west

give in to the touch of an angel

give in to the vast of a savior

give into fasting from failure, to where hesitance

has dried.

give in to the light that may save us

for the white-ghost childs in joy may cry…

quietly haunting the night

Why does it feel so good to say “Fuck!”?

Profanity feels visceral when it is spoken, yelled, and written. An emotional release occurs. Something happens at the utterance of the words moving us. Relatedly, there is a satisfaction we get out of solving a puzzle, engaging a mystery, or experiencing discovery. Combine these two ideas and you may have an idea of what is (allegedly) going on in The Waters. The mysterious use of words betraying their meanings, yet communicating a meaning beyond the definition of the words – sometimes using only their guttural accents as an indication of meaning.

In my twenties, I recall sleepless nights when emotions twisted, turned, and burned inside of me like a tornado tearing through my soul. It did nothing to say “I feel restless.” Or, “I feel upset.” I wanted connection, love, sex, passion, destruction, violence. I wanted life – it’s triumph, it’s tragedy. It was exploding inside of me – Emotion, Passion, Longing. I had music. Much of this vehemence was vented through this medium. But I needed something more. Something that looked at the granularity, the fine sand of it. Something beyond logic or meaning. Free association, perhaps. Possession. Letting my boiling subconscious rise to the surface. The devil and god raging inside me (I’ve heard it put).

How could I get this out? What should I do with it?

What the fuck is a “thin white ghost child”? Why would anyone write those words? “…laughed by me walking” – who is walking, you or the ghost? Is the ghost a good ghost or a bad ghost? Is the ghost haunting me? Why is the ghost thin? Why is s/he white? What do these things mean? Why was he laughing? Was he mocking me? Was he a she? What does it mean that it was a ghost child? Does that mean it preserved some part of its innocence after death?

This initial confusion-slash-lack of clarity is in the design of the structure. It elicits feelings of wanting to search for the meaning, yet not being completely clear on what the discovery of the element of meaning points to. In my experience, this is the true nature of humanity. There isn’t a 100% decided upon feeling or meaning. The common theme in the work, ghosts, attempts to get across something not fully manifest, yet ever-present.

The use of earthly elements –like salt– is used to ground the ethereal concepts. Sentence structure is rocky purposefully to elicit dis-ease and confusion. Punctuation doesn’t always make sense as is the author’s journey. Words used have multiple meanings, sometimes expressing both meanings, sometimes expressing the distance between them.

At times the work is metered, flowing. Others, it’s choppy and hard to find the cadence. This is a design feature of the work. While vague at one point in, there are perfectly clear proclamations at another: ‘give in to the light that may save us’.

Ultimately, this is an attempt to code a spiritual experience. Art is often attempting to do this using our senses. While at times this experience is a vomit of words – possession, it is equally adept and well-considered at others.

If memory serves, the phrase “thin white ghost child” appeared in my mind and I couldn’t shake it. This experience was personally commonplace. (There were times I thought perhaps I was insane, another personality talking to me.) But it came from my subconscious. I won’t share the feelings it brought on for fear of interfering with your experience. I want only to note that I decided to pay attention to the voices, to bring them to manifest. They are telling a story in a new language. I think it is (in part) part of our collective unconscious.

Hope. Terror. Peace. Meaning. Despair. Insecurity. Love. Lust.

In our loneliness, our personal experiences of solitude, we experience these things. This is one (of many) tether to the universality of our experience.

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BA in Psychology and MBA from Kent State. ENTJ Myers/Briggs and my love language is acts of service. However, I don’t think any of those things should provoke you to read my blog. Hmmm. I want to talk about things we all think about but, can’t freely talk about.

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