Life IS Loss

I lost my dongle the other night. It had years’ worth of unbacked work on it. Art, writing, photography, music, the lot. How could I be so careless? The last time I lost a dongle (they always have loads of unbacked work on), I found myself punching the wall over and over in frustration. It’s hard to describe how important an artist’s portfolio is to him- or herself. The process of loss takes days if not weeks to be fully digested, when certain forgotten projects from the past crop up in the mind, projects now deemed gone forever into the nether. Unread, unviewed, unobserved. I liked to look back upon my body of work and boast about myself internally, it amounts to the only good thing I’ve ever done upon this blue spinning rock. How could I be so careless?

But so be it. Life IS loss. I don’t wanna get too deep on the subject, because I’m likely to start weeping or something, but do you know what I mean? I’ve lost my little brother in a police station, I’ve lost my dad to cancer, I’ve lost a double miscarriage, I’ve lost the rest of my family due to estrangement. I’ve lost my mentor, I’ve lost my sanity, I’ve lost my physical appearance. I’ve almost lost my soul. Where does a silly old dongle rank amongst that fiasco? My work means nothing, in a way. I believe God will appreciate it in a different realm for all eternity. He’s read it, He’s viewed it, He’s observed it. God is my witness, and, I believe, with my creativity over the years, that I have served Him well. I didn’t let anyone down with my paintings and my message boards and my compositions and my collages and my sketches and my sculptures. It’s just a shame that none of it remains. Only their creator, my good humble self, who can recreate again, and never stop expressing. Expression, I also believe, or depression.

What if I lost this blog? Then it’s no fear. All I need is a pen and a piece of paper and my giftings from the Good Lord remain intact. I’ve always said this, but give me a studio and I’ll give you the world. I’ll always remember my artistic production with fondness and love.

Imagine if I lost my home through a bomb or a storm or a forest fire, or if I was a sole survivor in war-torn territory? Things could always be worse. I would burn all my books in a heartbeat rather than lose my love for God and his Children. Love is the most precious commodity on this blue spinning rock. On the other hand, I could have my own exhibitions going on but with a dark hateful heart. What good is art then, without a loving sentience to appreciate it? I offer all of my talents up to God, what’s done is done, I made a mark on myself if not on anybody else, and I pray for new giftings in this latest chapter of my life. I know that one of my vocations is talking to you, whoever you are or wherever you may be, about art and about my recovery and about my life. Our relationship is just starting. If anything happens to this website then I’ll simply get up and start a simpler one, but I must always keep writing, because writing keeps me.

I’m 7 Days into beating my addiction. A week ago today I was sat on a park bench scoring speed from a stranger in the cold. I took it home and sat in a dark room all night fapping on it, no pornography involved. I haven’t watched porno in a month, but last night I had the most erotic dreams, involving women and men spurting all over the place, taking me back to the banned content I came into contact with as an adolescent. That would wreck the rest of my life up now, if I came across stuff like that again. So would going back to the familiar interracial fodder I was used to on the internet. I haven’t watched it online for about three years. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to own the internet again. They say 50% of it is porno. It would surely wreck the rest of my life up. Cocaine and porno make me a very ill bunny.