Ballad Of The Black Pearl
Have you heard the legend of the Neo-Atlantean?
A creature designed to thrive in ocean depths, rarely visible above the surface due to heat and wind. The Neo-Atlantean is a master of cold and dark and flow. Within its vessel are the means to explore the vast abyss without considering respiratory capacity. But one of them, a bold and curious soul, decided to shed scales and tails for legs and feet. Its appearance on the shore made ripples in reality, gathering questionable looks and gawks and sneers and curses and violence and lust. It thought it'd find peace amongst these intellectual people, but its presence was suffocated by the surface dwellers’ desire to dominate and domesticate myths and magic; how else can humans learn a thing if it isn't dragged from shadows and exposed to examination light?
The last Neo-Atlantean appeared over a hundred years ago because these aquatic beings, despite the species bearing an uncanny resemblance to humanity, have forsaken those living upon the land for the treatment of their wayward child. The Neo-Atlantean was assaulted by The Angler and his hooks and nets and armadas bent on capturing this seafaring specimen; then, the seed of the ocean was put on display in a glass case for civilization to prod for free admission, treated like cattle, tenderized and exposed to the grilling stares. The Neo-Atlantean was dissected by The Surgeon before it was clinically dead, innards exposed to a theater of strangers who appeased their violence, disguising it as a science experiment dedicated to bettering the spectators' curiosity rather than the specimen's safety. Its sacred pearl was extracted and ground into a potion rumored to grant the selfish surface dwellers silvery fins to ferry them to the abyss, where the children of the sea lived in bliss and calm and darkness.
With organs harvested, the last Neo-Atlantean became a husk, a cloak of skin and gills strung about like jerky hanging dead on a rope before being cast into the sea to collect with the endless island of discarded human debris. However, the soul of the Neo-Atlantean was saved by Calypso, the tenebrous sea witch who governs all spirits of the sound. The ancient aquatic wonder granted the orphan one last gift of melody and momentum, inviting the ghost to join the ebb and flow of shifting tides and tunes before finding a final resting place among the measured bars and gentle waves always ready to welcome another siren’s song.
Motivation Station (II)
How much are you willing
to work for that one “Yes?” How
many rejections will you resist for the
one recognition? What is that
worth? The chance at greater;
it doesn't come to all, only those
who willed it into existence with effort.
This spark of talent may not burn
for long, so will you gather fuel?
Spend hours in frostbitten tundra
searching for trees with enough bark
to continue the blaze? Are you ready to
chop down a pillar of the past and
tend the present passion?
Don’t Go So Soon...
But I’ve already secured the bag and the passports are stamped
because I’m both home and the destination. Tonight
I saw the meteors flash across the twilight canvas and
all I could do was wish you the best; we used to be like that too,
a mass of mineral and wonder braving the depths. Perhaps
from some distant moon a clan of lovers looked on
as our romance glinted like a shooting star. I wanna
go somewhere, a place where every time I hear
my name a veteran dreadnought leaves port or a dragonfly’s
wings disturb the surface of the swamp or a filtered glass of
water is pulled from the fridge to refresh friends fumbling
around a kitchen. I don’t know if such a location exists
but I know the common denominator is water. And I confess:
In my heart, I trust the ocean more than the sun.
And what’s more intimate than introducing flaws and
fangs to each other’s flesh under the azure fires,
from the rockets imitating the comets coming. Trying to get through
to get through to renew and review, but never redo, even if I
look in the rear view, I’m only doing it to gather courage
to meet you again. To be a legend requires leg work,
it depends on how loud you are with your mouth shut. Now,
open and be unashamed to expose and express and
evolve, we’re designed for more than monotony; even if
life is monochrome the lack of color highlights the textures.
And patterns are a series of behaviors which are
a series of actions which come from a series of thoughts.
Everything is relative to what came before,
so never forget who you were when you weren’t this version of you.
May have taken ages or a handful of hours
on a redeye but time is irrelevant when you reach
the end. Which is a fancy way to say begin. The country
welcomed me, the city loved me, and the cosmos keep calling
but I’m not ready for those responsibilities yet. But, I am ready to
sway whatever way feels right in the moment, no point
holding it in anymore, if I did then what’s the point of
a world tour, if they don’t ask for an encore? One day
the vibrations will all match and the amps will kick as we push
forward into a dawn that is both cold and smattering
because it’s up to us to be the sparks of warmth in space.
A Guide To Humaning
Remember to shit once a day, the body needs to be cleansed.
Blink two seconds prior to posing for a photograph. Your eyes will be prepped for exposure.
Design a safe within your soul to keep volatile emotions; it’s dangerous if you let others handle them.
Lose the passcode to the safe; it’s dangerous if you handle emotions.
When in conversation with another human, remember to maintain eye contact for no more than four seconds. If you stare any longer, it will be considered an invasion of privacy.
Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot. Now you’re walking.
Ears are for listening, hands for touching, eyes for seeing, and lips are...Well, they can be used for a lot of things. But never use them to lie.
Unless you’re lying to yourself. That seems to be how others use them.
Over half of your vessel is controlled by involuntary muscles (including the heart and digestive system). Don’t be alarmed if you cannot choose who you love, you can’t even make your own blood circulate.
You also can’t choose your own skin, socioeconomic status, or the amount of hatred the world will show you based on these two specifications. But, you can choose how you live.
When you die…
Wash your ass, and triangular scrub your secret spots-they will start to smell if not cleansed.
Toes get cold first. If you find yourself naked in the snow, at least wear socks.
Love is cool as hell, but you often have to cool the hell within you to know love.
Other humans will say one thing, and do another. This is not normal behavior. Only accept actions as true (those humans are probably androids).
The largest organ is skin. It is a collection of dying dermal cells sewn together by protein receptors on a lipid bi-layer. If cut deep enough, the stitching will split.
If the wound is self-inflicted, then the scars should be concealed with long sleeves. When asked why you’re wearing hoodies in summer, say you’re trend-setting.
If they still don’t believe you, accuse them of being too nosy.
Humans do not like to be called nosy.
Stay hydrated. More fluid leaves the body than you probably realize (tears, sweat, semen, menstruation, saliva).
When you die…
We learn via imitation, so copy everything that sparks your curiosity. (Imposter syndrome is real).
During the act of reproduction, remember to clasp hands and lock lips when experiencing an orgasm. If allowed to float too far in that pleasure-filled purgatory, you may never return.
This is the number of hours in a day. Don’t waste them.
When another human dies, you have a three-month grace period where mistakes and substance abuse are temporarily excused. Although, on three months and a day, you have to come back to reality.
Our perceived reality is a combination of external stimuli being processed by biological transmitters in our brain, and subsequently converted into internal sensations for the software known as the spirit. Some humans speculate we may be androids.
You will die.
Memories will often haunt you. Do your best to make good ones.
Dreams are acid-trips meant to entertain your mind while asleep. Tame Impala or Gustav Holst is probably plays in the background as your soul slips into the subconscious.
Assume everybody is an android until you see them love or suffer.
When you die...accept the end without regrets.
Meditation and a good body stretch release endorphins that enhance the mood. If something traumatic happens, join a yoga studio, not a bar.
Too much television will turn you into a sitcom.
Too much anime will have you believing that you can transform if you scream loud enough (It may happen, for it has yet to be proven false).
Too much politics will make you distrust other humans (Don’t trust any androids).
Never take YouTube comments seriously, even when people say the world is going to end.
The world has already ended at least thirty-seven times.
Flaws are actually foundations of strength, you just have to renovate the ruins.
If you don’t shit daily, the nonsense will make your system sick, and you will die. Nobody wants to die covered in their own excrement.
If you don’t live daily, the nonsense will make your system sick, and you will die. Nobody wants to die covered in their own “What if?”
The Death of Flamma
Let my name foam from their lips
As the deluge douses the dead
Gleaming like the soaked gladius
Before it punctures my resolve!
Let the blade cut into the bones of bravery
Slice so deep a clean sever is the outcome
Vengeance will be mine if your strike falters
So hold nothing back when we clash!
Let the beheading quench the thirsty sands
Where mighty a warrior have fallen in battle
Murdered by the screams of the lively crowds
Honor my bloody crusade with your cheers!
Let me die in the Coliseum, for I am a fighter.
This place where failure leads to finality
Where I test mettle against steel and claw
To prove my death is worth witnessing!
WORSHIP ME!
Journal Entries
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I’m finally beginning to understand what it means to have the mind of a writer. It is not some physical object that exceptional (or random) individuals possess but rather a treasure from the world before science, hidden within the depths of the human experience.
The mind of a writer is not given or taken or split between interested parties or auctioned to the highest bidder. The mind of a writer can only be created and we call the creator “a writer.”
The only separation between a writer and non-writer is that one makes a conscious decision to manifest their worldly perception into physical reality; this is an elaborate process conducted by the simple act of writing. So, what makes an individual want to write?
The motivations are endless as the cells that form the body, but my motivation is growth, expression, understanding. When I choose the medium of fiction, I am actively germinating a new history, a tale that is the amalgamation of a pre-existing idea coupled with the vibrant imagination that thrives within the mind of all of us.
There are hundreds of ideas, thoughts, visions, dreams, instances, coincides that appear in the mind on any given day, and I write to provide permanence. But I cannot simply write them all verbatim for three reasons.
1) Active reality taints the memory of an experience. 2) The experiences and lessons may not have the same effect to another who has no pre-existing knowledge related to said experience. 3) An experience should be viewed as a raw material for the mental. Just like quarried stones, it, too, can be shaped into something more useful, like writing.
Some experiences can be accepted in natural form but the crafty writer will find ways to hone and refine it into something universal. That final product is what we call a “story” or “tale”.
To me, fiction is a sandy beach where I can wander along for hours, drift into the waves or absorb the sunlight. But at some point I will sit in the sand and take m hands to the sediments in an effort to mold a substance.
The process of writing is akin to the creation of a sandcastle. Having to sit and mine the sand (ideas) and give them formed walls (words), But there must be more than form, there must be structure or a blueprint to help the authitect (author + architect) design the castle best fit for its purpose. Some castles must defend against warring ideals while others are built to withstand the erosions of wind and time.
The structure of a story is the plot and with a blueprint words can be placed in a particular sequence and create a chain of events. Through these unusual events one can impress their motives on the viewer. They can incept the reader with an idea; the refined idea is a theme, and a theme is the reason you even started writing the particular piece. With a reason to create, and a structure to guide the process, the authitect will begin the construction.
Construction consists of countless hours of brainstorming, writing sections of a story at a time, revising the words chosen. But there is a mental aspect to consider as well; embarking on the journey of writing a novel, one may have to become the story.
They must be willing to dive in the dark behind the yields and scuba through the salvaged memories. For days at a time, endlessly searching the depths as the surface world continues without batting an eye. Yes, a creator must depart from the world of comfort and enter the mystical realm: the mind of a writer. It is in the abyss of the mind where the real process begins, for the physical act of writing is repetitive and simple.
If one comes to the writer’s mind with genuine intentions, and an ardent desire to labor for their production, then, they will see the completion of their sandcastle, perhaps one even the waves of time cannot wash away.
-
Today, I wrote a metaphor about cats and curiosity and I’m liking how my mind is working in metaphors again. That means I am thinking different. And that’s good because change doesn’t start with behaviors (that’s the ending).
Change starts with the mental discourse that leads to a said action. Meaning if I desire lasting change I must first alter the thoughts and the mind as a whole. I feel as though I, going through a mental renovation, an extreme makeover of sorts. It’s very necessary because I am about to embark on another journey, another decade looms at the end of this year, and the thought of it is surely enough to make me want change.
To do something I’ve never done before requires new actions, and new actions can only be chartered if there is a new mindset. So here’s to the current you embracing change and everything that it will bring. Enjoy it, because you’ll never be this Lee again, and that’s okay because this Lee has done exactly what it was supposed to do: live free.
I guess the question I am most interested in answering is not “why transform?” but rather “when?” I already know why this is happening and why it’s necessary, it’s the timing that stresses me out.
When the transformation happens will determine a lot, because I have a hard time waiting. I have this innate desire to move, to be in motion, so to have to wait for things is tricky-at least things that concern me. So, what I must do is find alternatives to aimless waiting, ways other than filling my head with a distraction like sharpening the instruments. Actions that yield favorable results when it’s time to act. So, I am in a season of sharpening. I am fine-turning all of my tools, and resampling my skillset so when the times comes I’ll be ready. And don’t even for a second think it’s not coming, it always is.
So, who will you be when it comes? And when it goes, who will be left standing in the debris of a revolution? And does revolution not equate to razing and complete removal of the original source? Is not something new supposed to come afterwards, if not, then has a revolution really occurred? Have I been misidentifying revolution and raging? To rage is also to rebel, but what about afterwards? Does the destruction of the old guards pave the way for new deities? Or will the worshippers revel in the emptiness, in the lack of foundation and authority? I mean, what will we want once the revolution is done. what will we put in place after history has been decided by the victor, by us?
What will I input once my world has been reduced to rubble, maybe a coalition of my past, present, and future where they can debate freely, maybe an obelisk dedicated to the individual opinion, a monolith among the dunes of drones, or maybe I will create a community, a global society where my memories and secrets live, not in harmony, but equilibrium. Homeostasis is the name of the game.
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07/28/2019
I think magic has finally found its way into my life, and at a pivotal moment. When I speak of magic I don’t mean spells and incantation rather subliminal emotions that have the ability to cause an action. Magic is what happens when logic and thought can’t answer.
Never really considered myself a wizard or chosen individual, but I do fancy the title of sage. One who has such a profound understanding of a topic that allows them mastery over it. What then would be my subject of study, to what ideal would I dedicate years of fruitless devotion to?
Could it be art? The sacred product that represents human experience in physical forms, the heralded treasure of emperors and immigrants alike? Doubtful, for although art is the outcome of the majority of my choices it is rarely a cause.
Perhaps individuality + the mind? Aren’t these two quintessential factors involved in the existence of a being? Wouldn’t this world benefit from a reintroduction to them? Perhaps…but I would rather conduct this as an action rather than hypothesis.
I don't want to directly test the individual; I want to be it. Then what? What say you then, Lee? What will you live for…? Because it's too easy to die for something these days.
I will live for love and wisdom. I choose to donate my soul to love, to transform it into a channel, a delta whose river flows into the vast sea. My soul will serve as the funnel for the source, and the source I choose is love. I don’t know why I desire this…but it feels right.
It feels illogical to cast aside my reservations and actually pursue a genuine bond (love) with every individual who crosses my path. It goes against the years of writing I’ve done regarding the singular being, and yet I’m drawn to the topic. I don’t know where to begin or if it will have a definite end, but I want to master it.
I want to master love, not just that of the self or the world; I want to master the love conceived when individuals decide to form a unit, not out of necessity or force but because they want to.
How to obtain that is also something I am clueless about, which is why I’m letting the magic take over. I’m convinced God is moving a bunch of pieces around on my board to test me. I know they want to see what I will do, which direction I will choose. And right now, I don’t have a destination in mind, meaning I’ve been out of this element for so long I don’t know how to approach someone I’m interested in.
Recently I’ve been dealt L’s which have pushed me away from the feels, relying on logic and science as my solution. But that’s changing. It could be from external forces, but I believe it is due to my current medical condition, along with the sobering realization that I’ve not had the pleasure of spending an entire day with someone in years.
Some days I miss being a “lover” , how it felt to provide another individual with your raw essence; someone who could support both the breakdowns and breakthroughs, the feel of another’s hands on your skin. I’ve been away from love for some time, but I am reconnecting to the source. Through this timeless pursuit of self-love I learned a great deal, and now I want to try my hand at love again. Something tells me I might not be that bad. I’ve learned a few things on my solo sabbatical.
When you come to an understanding of yourself, then it prepares you for a proper interaction with another who has also realized their self-worth. If not, then they will be on unequal footing-which does not spell downfall b/c people change. But the task will be more challenging. However, what my focus now should be is not the development of myself, but the genuine and deliberate sharing of my self, and not just the self but my soul too. It’s not enough for me to offer love, I only know energized love. I only know kinetic attraction; laws of motion and emotion. What I want is a love electric, a shot of thunder directly from the source. Once obtained, I will spend the rest of my days in pursuit of answers.
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October 12th, 2020
Well, it’s time for another one of those classic “I’m about to change my life around,” scenarios that are so common to the creature known as Johnny Lee Chapman, III. I mean, life has been changing for me constantly, ever since I was terminated from my job as a dental hygienist. Six months have passed since then and so much has transpired.
The biggest accomplishment: becoming a teaching artist and facilitating workshops. The biggest setback: I’m stuck between an unforeseeable future and a past full of nostalgia. I’m anxious and suffering from existential dread (like everybody else in the pandemic). But sometimes I think it’s my lack of control that partially led to this problem.
Thankfully, I’m cognizant of the signs; steadily realizing that if I don’t make a change in behavior now, then I will suffer greater consequences that will make today’s temporary pleasures a lingering pain. And to change a behavior requires both acknowledgment of a “wrongful” action, education regarding the right path, and implementation of better decisions.
There’s a word for that process: Discipline.
Funny, I spent half the car ride from Apex to Winston-Salem talking to myself how it was time to change. I knew that it’d require effort and drive but it wasn’t until I began searching through my grandfather’s old sermons.
The first written pierce was about discipline, how it requires decision making, commitment and perseverance. This season is one where I will sharpen all three elements. I will consciously choose actions and behaviors that uplift me. To cling to wrongful behaviors because they’re comfortable or a means of escape is actually pulling the chain tighter. The vices have done a number on my psyche. I know a version of me exists who has renounced these problems-but they may have picked up others (IDK!).
But, on that drive, I kept promising my future self to trust this version of me. I yelled so loud I wished to send the scream across temporal lines. Granted, I know a future me objectively cannot exist but subjectively that MF’er is alive and active. To realize them, to bring it into existence will require me taking the necessary steps today; I must be disciplined if I wish to see the end.
Being in a new place, with new skills and challenges will be a perfect opportunity to see how true my words are. I know me, I know the voice can convince me to ignore this entry, and all the rules I set prior to it. And the current me may relish in that joy but that will affect the future.
What if it’s like Dorian Gray…? If we’re born with a finite source of “health” like the portrait, and each negative decision tarnishes that image. When we reach the end we are measured by how much “health” remains, how much our portrait has suffered. Will we be proud or disgusted by the representation of our soul in canvas? I bet people would move differently if they know that’s what waited at the end; maybe we’d all be a bit more disciplined.
Anyway, I can’t control others, only my choices. And from this day, I will choose what’s best for me. Past, Present, and Future! All of them are one. To be disciplined is learning how to say “No” to the things you once said “Yes”; and saying “Yes” to the things that were once a “No.”
Now that you know what is required, ask yourself, all versions, if this is something you want? Got your answer? Still remember it, do ya? Good, because I’ve got mine and I’m ready to begin my residency at the domain of discipline.
This Is Absurd - Essay
It has been a fortnight since I last tried my hand at essay writing but here goes…
There is a balance in every being’s life that must be scaled and properly weighted if one is to truly embrace the totality of existing. The human experience is varied and flawed in many areas which leads to a tectonic shift in the foundation. All at once we found ourselves at fault, split and forced to straddle between two prominent extremes.
The “objective reality” and “subjective image” are the two facets that define our lives, and lying somewhere between them is a zone wrought with confusion. This zone is known as the absurd.
The philosophical term was coined by Albert Camus, the French philosopher, social activist, and author of many notable works; one of which is revered as one of the greatest novels written (The Stranger). How one achieves such a title is unknown to me but I believe that creating an entire philosophical movement might be an ideal start.
Before I tackle the topic of the absurd, I would like to share how I came to know the name Camus. While pledging (‘06!) one of our requirements was to know our fellow brother’s favorite books. My live phive chose The Plague by Albert Camus. The title and author struck me, and a year later, I found myself walking amidst the village tainted with pestilence. However, I was too immature (intellectually) to understand exactly what I was reading so I never finished it.
Another year passed and Camus returned, this time bringing the subject of his lifelong career: the absurd. In my existential philosophy course we tackled the Myth of Sisyphus, another work by Camus.
In this parable, Sisyphus is punished by being forced to perpetually push a boulder up a hill, reaching the peak only to have it roll back down for him to start again. Oh man, sounds alot like punching a clock to labor and letting the boulder fall; to complete a day on the job only to do it again tomorrow. And yet, Sisyphus is unconcerned with this task, or rather his conscience is unbothered by his laboring. He is merely experiencing his external world as if he were another variable to be altered by forces.
What Sisyphus lacks is a “subjective image” or viewpoint, something that can acknowledge the mindless task at hand, and yet continue to thrive despite knowing this task is mindless.
The absurd requires thought and revolting. Both aspects must be present or else the absurd will only exist as a fractured line between the two concepts. The “revolt” is born from the “temptation of hope.” That is having hope despite the knowledge of death.
Hope invokes within us a desire to live, when we are consciously choosing to live, to exist knowing that it is fleeting. To do something more than aimlessly labor like an objective slave to the world. But to hope is not to revolt, hope is a passive action whereas living is active. Living requires energy, hope requires prayers. It is not enough for one to acknowledge their conscious mind, they must consciously use it to create a subjective image, while navigating the objective reality. Both planes of human experience must be present and in contact for the third place, the zone of the absurd, to exist. Now what is the absurd, and why is it necessary for life in the 21st century?
If I had to equate something modern to the classical definition, I’d say the absurd is the “story.” The snapchat post. It is the point at which the external, objective world and the inner subjective world meet; and when they do, they create a phenomenon of ridiculousness, indifference and illogicity.
Why is that important? Because a consciousness that is in revolt against the mindless will yield a new way to experience human life, and we should strive to live this life through as many perspectives as we can.
By seeing how illogical this whole process of living is, it should, in theory, drive us end it; to commit suicide, what Camus called the “truly serious philosophcal problem.” Because we know death awaits and what we do will not have any “lasting effects,” we should simply encourage the end to pull on us without regard. Yet, here we are still punching the same clock, still pushing the boulder up the hill that knows our souls better than we do. We abandon hope in an effort to resist the oppressive nature of the unbiased world.
“To live is to make the absurd live. To make it live is to face it squarely”. (Camus pg. 45). The true beauty of this life cannot be realized until we come to terms with the reality that life ends. Of course, it is never easy to confront something as permanent as death, especially while we operate within a temporary reality, but that is exactly what the absurd is; and, the easier we accept the idiocy of existing with the knowledge of impending doom, the more smoothly we shall sail through this life.
Camus made an excellent quote: “The important thing is not to live better, but to live more.” (Camus pg. 45) Only by living “more” are we truly able to revolt against the absurd; balance will only be restored if each conscious choice is made with intent, despite knowing the earth will eventually swallow us all.