Why We Are Seeing So Much War

Hello? Is this thing on? Test! One! Two! I don't know if it's the funniest experience or a serious lack of judgment but it doesn't matter how thick the commitment is to writing a daily "Blog" you still can't hear the sound of my "real" voice. One might assume the sketches once heard on radio shows could be that picture seen. But in reality he's only an actor. As are the vocals listeners quickly turn away from when shot from a favorite song toward a business driven agenda located near the center of advertising. My true voice is never heard. Who I am in thought doesn't always agree with what I've become in character. That gets me in a lot of trouble. Anyone nearing the birth of my art naturally ties who they think they know...to the one currently delivering. When in fact both personalities are separate paths not cut from the same set of rocks. On paper during each gift of rays showcased at sunrise he that is radio isn't anywhere to be heard. The writer in me can't stand the scent of his conceit. Rather than fight like two brother's whose Mother is passionate with keeping peace; each knows of their rightful place of expressing... Think of it as a "Timeout" corner. All who are me, the writer, Blogger, radio jock, commercial producer, artist on canvas, musician and so much more stand away from sharing the same view when confronted with issues not associated with having to be a single source of energy. Pretty sick right? Not really! People who are creative are normally the most moody misunderstood and completely irrational sets of expression given air to share. It takes true angels dedicated to masterminding the results of an after effect to make what other's have labeled wrong and make it a right. The moment someone tells me of their passion to write, paint, sing and or dance. Out pops the personality addicted to studying the behavior of a passerby that might in fact be hold the missing needle and I'm stuck mending the haystack. Artist's that admit their shapes of shaming are in essence listening to the voice. Hardly if ever does it accept the weight of association when pitch volume and tones of the hearty groans, mumbles and stumbles cast too many close to the artist into acts of judgment. From out of a vocal box it loosely plays notes like Mariah Carey somewhere in the core of the neck with just enough reason to create judgment. The Jock on the radio lives so far in the future that by the time the present shows up to the party he's off microwaving hotdogs in a backyard twenty four hours away. I don't expect you to understand that. Unless you play with modern radio waves and know that being here no longer carries the importance of every day. While Blogging I'm a "Keyboard" talker. The value placed into each paragraph and or expression must meet a personal demand of keeping everything in "conversational" form. He that lives inside fights to make room while the outside voice tends to take up too much space. Words that first appear within the cobwebs of my head don't always make it past the "Perfectionist" therefore the distance of the best thought doesn't reach beyond a momentary idea. To write is to release. Once free the next goal is to prepare for the critic. I can say anything to myself and laugh it off. 82.3% of the time another human's expression falls short of touching the depths of the creative heart beat. Julia Cameron's most powerfully delivered lesson is based on displaying your art so that you may learn to ignore criticism. It's become a game to quickly hide what others might find to be out of tune to their perfect day. I'm not ashamed of pencil sketches and doodle droppings. Nor do I shy away when the songs I sing cracked like paint on a 200 year old house. Admitting that you're an Artist gives you permission to be different and not always accepted inside the social networks of pretty hair and shoes that match. The pain an Artist feels is the birth of a new idea. You hear it in your head, heart, fingers and toes. You smell it with your nose. It doesn't matter how long you stare at a white wall nobody but you can make it big, fat, itty bitty tiny or tall. And you won't stop until the origin of the sickness says, "I've had enough! Move on to a new object that will make you even sadder." It took radio morning show shock jock Howard Stern nearly his entire career to realize the importance of meditation after stepping off the stage. I sit and do nothing but listen to a Preacher man on Monday mornings tell his tales of what it's like to openly deliver only to be one of the loneliest people I've ever met. I call it Post Production Blues of what it's like to help shape you. How can someone be so full of Art and expression and within seconds after delivering it like a wedding cake can be a walking wall of silence? Is this why Face Book is brimming with endless amounts of cut and paste? Billions of creative minds have no place to run so they choose websites. We aren't a depressed social networking society. If we were all born to create then who is left to teach the massive amounts that don't understand the art of emptiness? For when you are and nothing is available to help fill you back up...war begins in the most simple of places. It doesn't require much to influence a group of innocent to angrily charge a fortress. The pain delivered by loss cannot be healed if what has been lost has never been explained. You were born an Artist. Write, paint, cook, cut, design, understand facts, figures and architecture... Art is what you think. The voice in your head and heart not the pitch volume and tone thrown out of vocal chords tucked away in your neck. If that voice was truly meant to be the most important... wouldn't it have been hidden within your ribs? It takes a lot to penetrate that cage. Think about it... I will always believe in you first... arroe@arroe.net