Sunday, September 18, 2016

The Useless Works Of Pharaoh

"Look upon my works ye Mighty - and yawn."

And, so it is.

People ask why I don't put my hundreds of millions to better use. No one ever asks that of the greedy fucks who misuse their money. Apparently, I invite that question with my obvious lack of direction. Problem is, every direction is the wrong one.

I don't want to do anything that can possess me. And what does it mean anyway to build a grand pyramid in the sand? No amount of architecture can save me. No amount of earthly deeds amounts to squat unless it means something to the person doing it. So I think about a million things to do but never do them. I can't see the point.

After Pharaoh was humiliated by God he was desperate to find worth outside of Love. Though many of us are in various stages of denial, we all know how that story turns out. Pharaoh blinds himself with ambition grand in the eyes of men but nonexistent in the eyes of the Universe. Better to have saved a cat's life than build all the pyramids in Egypt.

I find myself in the same dilemma. I want to not face Love but have worth too. Why do a meaningless act? Why build a skyscraper that doesn't move me? Why build a Maserati museum just to kill time? Why build a designer home just to live in alone? Oh, I try to feed myself erstwhile answers to those kind of questions but the straws always blow through my hands - leaving me empty.

I'd prefer to write a poem that would stand forever over any monumental temple. Engineering a timeless poem is truly an historic event. It's also one that can't be mandated or produced by paired programming. How can I be quoted like Lewis Carroll or Shelley or any other of the great time lords of art? Someone show me the blueprint for that.

To be fair, who knows where Emily could have led me. It crosses my mind every day, especially as I consider the massive mind-mauling absurdity of my daily strife. I'm doomed to wander as Cain, never to settle after committing unforgivable unsettling deeds. Every fiber of my being cries out to build. I want a legacy. I want to be part of the eternal fountain of life that is art. Everything is else is liable to rot.

But one must do something. The least objectionable was a modern Japanese house on the last vacant lot edging White Rock Lake. It's multi-level being as it's on the side of a hill and captures the reflections of the water through the great Japanese tradition of light and shadow. Everyone raves over it as I knew they would. I (guiltily) poured all my energy into it, bending my intelligence to the task. Then someone told me that because I don't want to deal with my feelings I've become a task-oriented person.

That brought me crashing back down to earth.

I tried to enjoy the house, I really did. But it's yet another story of outward success hiding inner failure. So I'm selling, deeply ashamed I ever built it as a love substitute, as I all the while brag on its various outstanding aspects with my rehearsed passion. Hopefully I'll find a buyer who can appreciate its art while also bringing life into it. Don't bother looking if you're a goddam conservative, by the way. Real deal only.

So it's back to square one: What can I do that's real? I know many people are also flummoxed by this same question as they like to posit that nothing is real (ergo, no responsibility). I just smile when I hear that outrage knowing their inner turmoil.

Damn, this is frustrating spending my time looking for water on the moon. I know where the water is. Just don't know if I can get back to Earth.

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