Make art! Make art! declared Glen Hansard as he received his Oscar so someone got some lino and made this image of Glen himself. It was done by suffering from realness
I suffer from that too. Words were falling through me and fooling me today and it was a full blown case of a mala racha so I thought of how we fall apart at times.
I was looking out from the Marina Del Rey near Los Angeles, California, and it was getting chilly and when I thought of broken things and people who have gone away. It’s been happening to me lately. People leave.
I looked out on the water as one of Glen’s songs played in my head.
It was a strange one with an upbeat tempo but a dark line of thought but as always with a message of hope at the end of our dark tunnels:
Well the ruins of man, the bloodied rag,
lead the fool, the bull, the powdered hag.
The nights they make them rattle at
the wolves that follow the outed man.
The falling star, the way we are divine.
I celebrated the chance to be melancholic and rebellious and mad and me and the words kept me company:
Well they call you saint, a basket case.
The rules of thumb you had to break:
the raging skull, the rag to the bull,
the nails that drag in either hand.
Well I will make my work of that.
I know this place I know this task.
If you need somewhere to fall apart …
Sometimes it’s really hard to be apart from those you love.
Music then becomes my best friend, always with me.
Water, music, poetry…my medicine.
Art heals me and requires no HMOs.
There is pleasure in the pathless woods. There is a rapture on the lonely shore. There is society, where none intrudes. By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not Man the less, but Nature more
– Lord Byron