KingPen Chronicles

These are the musings, reflections and rants of Me: J.Bailey the KING PEN. I am a slampoet, blackdude(not african-american---there's a difference), magazine publisher/editor, columnist and irreverent soul. I'll talk about whateverthefuck I want to talk about, enjoy it or don't, the choice is yours. IF HOLDIN THIS PEN A SIN I'LL GO TO HELL W/ NO REGRETS

My Photo
Name:
Location: St. Louis, Missouri, United States

I was born to speak, teach and write.(not particularly in that order but it doesn't matter really--does it?) I am Black (not african-american even though I was born in America--ask a Black person and they'll explain it to you b/c I don't have enough space to do it here) I can be loud, mean, arrogant, and a royal ass--but I'm a nice guy and a little shy. I am a study in paradox and I love it.

Sunday, March 06, 2005

#11 Why I Write part 1

I've written on everything; notepads, journals, napkins, business cards, my hand, cardboard box tops, reciepts, walls, the edges and back of bills, envelopes, the inside blank pages of books, and anything else I could get a hold of when I've needed to write. If it can take ink or pencil lead I'm sure at some time or another I've used it. The larger truth is that at those times I'm being used as well. I don't write on all of those things because I want to. I write on them because I have to. The muse, or in my case, muses make me do it, and for the last 20 years, I've been a slave to their whims.

the evil muse


My muses are heartless bastards that don't care what I'm doing, who I'm with or what my plans are when one of them decides to lay some words on me. Actully they don't just lay them on me, they slap me in the face with them and then dance on my head until I write. I've been pulled over on the sides of highways because the muses thought that a road trip was just the time to give me a poem or and idea. Fuckers! But I love them for it.
What I'm saying is that writing isn't a choice to me--it's an imperative. I was born to do it and if I didn't write, I'd die. Up to now I've written in virtual obsurity but in some ways that doesn't bother me because I don't write for other people. I write things that I'd like to read, or things that need to get out and I'm the avenue they chose to use. I write because when I don't write my life seems darker somehow. I write because not writing is un-natural (meaning at odds with my nature).
I believe that there is something that everyone on this planet is meant to do. Writing is my thing. Speaking and teaching are my things to but both of those are offshoots of my writing. Since we are put here to serve a purpose the only way to truly be fulfilled is to do it without question. That's why I'm at the mercy of my muses. But the truth is that they have never steered me wrong. Some of my best writing has happened, or at least begun, on miscellaneous pieces of paper.
I don't claim that history will call me a great writer. There's no guarantee that history will remember me. But the creator watches and he makes a way when we serve our purpose. My life has, will have and has had difficulty, but when I write those things melt away. I won't claim divine inspiration or guidance but as I think about it, aren't all good inspirations and true guides from the spot in the universe we call divine? When given something to do by something greater than you makes whatever that is important.
I look at Van Gogh, an artist that never made any real money painting, and I understand why he kept painting. If he'd stopped painting because of hardship or the fact that he wasn't getting payed the world would have been robbed of that master's expression and art. I think about Tupac Shakur who produced enough as an artist that he's had more albums released after he died than when he was alive. Now I don't want to die before I get noticed or payed or appreciated but notice, payment and appreciation aren't why I write. Like Van Gogh and Shakur I am driven to do it.
I write because it's the right thing to do. I don't live to write---I write to live. If I didn't I'd be dead-even if I still drew breath.

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home