The Storyteller

They say a storyteller seeks the ridges of the mind frontier, pushing its bounds as the Big Bang with the universe’s edge. Unabashed and void of boundaries, ‘new’ is his religion. Purging paradigms inherited to accept this muse as fertile ground for new patterns of language and syntax. Innovation and expanded meaning unfolds. Concepts instantiate from free form. The excruciating becomes his sole friend. 

And so the artist towers over the cusp of the frontier armed with adjectives of new or forbidden. Without hesitation, he plunges 

into the most extreme of human experience. He dives into the abyss to capture the indiscernible snowflake experience. The indescribable is wrestled into description. 

In this realm, words and imagination reign. 

Immersed in the experiential, emotions convulse and implode into exponential nuance. As cells replicate, words idolate mitosis with various subsets captured. Sentences are fucked into existence. Iteration is master. 

The storyteller plunges into veiled adventure. Each manifested thought is contemplated for its unique and physical signature. The body is brand anew. The somatic burgeons. 

Yet the writer suffers in this realm where language prevails above all. Without regard for self, the pen and narratives reveal in the dance of ink. With each stroke of letter, the writer’s false security cracks. He trades peace for truth. True engagement murders alleged health. And his existence concocted of four dimensions breaks. The brain, the mind, the body, and the nervous system equally unhinge. Four mausoleums erected, lightly connected by this trace source. 

The purpose, intended or otherwise? The artist delivers attunement to the eventual reader. He obliterates thought and human isolation with truth married in compassion. He delivers freedom and healing. The network of 4-letter Ais fold in the narratives into their person. The experience ever so raw - a precursor for enlightenment. 

Armed with this seemingly impossible task, the artist forges. The more unique the idea, the larger the army of ‘They’. The opposing force that meets each new idea birthed. 

Yet I ask, who is this ‘They’? What is it’s perilous amalgamation? Be They the omnipotent? Be They the omniscient? Adage and fables favor an all-knowing ‘They’. This construct a fortress. Untouchable, immeasurable, inauditable. This of lowest truths, rebranded into its higher form reason, holds the pioneers with scorn and contempt. Recognizing its putrid stagnation, the writer ushers in its holy deluge. 

The storyteller embraces complexity and treads discomfort in the darkest dark. He overcomes his biology for pattern recognition, slipping sweet daggers to its most vulnerable. Inordinate amounts of suffering flow with the power of legions of time past. Yet, damnation is the lie and the energy dissipates at the expense of word capture. 

The writer obliterates any regard for ‘They’. 

Language places a firm grip on the jugular. Breath now extinct. Words emanate from this trance like state. 

Often enough, the adventurer lunges into the vortex without star nor traces of guidance. The road is comprised of trickery and mazes. The return uncertain. At times, the human vessel proves total and complete collateral damage. It’s loved ones collapse in generous grief, yet humanity as a collective prevails and words offer solace to its next generation of kin. 

And this momentary liminal state produces stillness from which the next spark of life spontaneously combusts. The frontier’s edge ever expanding with a honing signal calling its next pioneer. 

- you have the personality of a tortured artist -