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In The Halls of Madness

I could be wrong...

But I believe that if we walk down deep enough into the cave of "I" we find a door sealed by "I" to protect "I" from the frictions of the world.

And behind this door is the most unique expression of madness- the elemental and unadulterated core of the human soul.

Art is an interesting thing because it's the negotiation between expression and appreciation...or at least recognition. Human beings need to express themselves not simply to express themselves, but to express themselves to other human beings who see and validate this on some level- even criticism. Of course, appreciation and adoration are the most valued. However, because each person believes and feels differently, we will never accept a person completely. This means that the impulse to express is moderated by the need to impress.

A person who writes a poem can write exactly from the heart as they feel...and be rejected because this form of expression fails to impress another. The writer- even though expressing themselves fully and truly- will feel bad about this since their expression was not appreciated and so must suppress a part of themselves in order to successfully impress others. There is a loss here...

I believe that most writing is imitation. It is the chimerical restructuring of ideas and experiences already presented to us. This does not mean it is not entertaining, but I believe that some of the most brilliant things come about when a person inches that much closer to the dark well of the self- venturing that much closer to the vault of madness that lies in the center of the human mind because there is a perspective so unique it has no name and defies classification. Even our attempt to transmute it into some form of physical expression falls short of it's purity.

I suppose this is sounding like a writer tipping over into the chasm of his own madness...and that might be right...

But I actually do wonder.

I had a friend who was religious- a female- and she was telling me why she was religious and why she believed in God. And during her explanation I told her that she was full of pooh. Not in an arse-hole way and not in a way to snark about some atheistic rant on the non-existence of God. Rather, I told her that if she really did know God she would appear utterly insane to everyone else around her because at that moment she would be free and fearless- able to love and accept herself without restraint and to act according to her deepest, personal truths and that this would appear so alien to everyone else around her as to horrify and offend them intensely. She'd be an element unto herself and no one else is. Everyone else has long since compromised- by force and by self-compulsion- to be what they are either told to or what they perceive they must be. No one is their own truth. If God is who you say he is, than you are likely only going to approach him by being you and not the abstraction you present.

And so I wonder if art is actually the path to the highest rung of human spiritual evolution does the bell of enlightenment ring most sweetly in the halls of madness?


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