Note To My Readers, 01/18/2006
Howdy, folks! (and if you're an insanely lusty and beautiful woman, "Hello, darlin'!) -
Well, it's yet another day in the Hundred Acre Wood, and the human race hasn't blown itself up yet. That's the good news. The bad news? Hmmm...can't think of any, which means that's a good thing!
I wanted to add a little note to you, my faithful readers (though few and far between), to forewarn those of you who may object to some of the content (e.g. foul language, blasphemous themes, and just the general dark themes some of my work dabbles into) that has been published on this blog. I want to make one thing abundantly clearly to everyone who reads this: this is not for the faint of heart, and what you read is, really, the bearing of my soul. I think that even the most devout of Christians, for which I am one, will admit that they have their inner "demons" which haunt them in their waking hours and in their dreams. For me, take what the average person has and multiply it times ten. I have a medical condition known in today's medical field as Bipolar Disorder, or better described by its old fashioned name, manic depression. I think that most of you will take note that I'll have a few poems written in a sequence that are, say, more on the positivistic side of "Is-The-Glass-Half-Full-Or-Half-Empty" sphere, while others are definitely anthetical. Sometimes, I'll even have one love poem followed by one that is just, well, for lack of a more intellectual phrase, "bitchy and hateful." I really worry about that sometimes, feeling that people read into my patterns and think, "Boy, that Henderson kid, he sure is an A-1 Nut Boy," when in reality, I'm not. To tell you the truth, poetry has saved my life, because on many occasions I would begin writing down a poem when I felt like committing suicide (Suicidal tendancies is a hallmark symptom of the depressed "pole" of the mood spectrum, which is divided into two poles, mania and depression.) . I put my ideas down on paper, and guess what? I'm still here.
You know, some people have asked me why I haven't considered going into journalism because they've felt that I had some kind of talent in both my creative and persuasive writing mechanics, and these people are teachers who my mother works with who have read my work. I'm really honored and flattered by the fact that these highly educated and esteemed people would say such nice things, but I really have other ambitions. I don't feel like that being a jouralist is my calling in life. What I want to do is to teach history in either a high school or college. However, I have been giving some serious thought and consideration to attempt being published. I have been writing poetry now since September of 2000, around the time I gave up playing the trombone, and I feel that, as good as I was on my instrument, I am light years ahead of that in the current state of my honed writing skills. Who knows? Maybe I will make some money off of this, and maybe I can live a good life, help out my family with living a high standard quality of living, and donate money to the two charities which really hit close to home with me: The Autism Society of America, and The Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance. All my life, I have felt that I've had some serious shortcomings, whether it was because of my weight, the fact that I was not an athlete, the fact that I was not one of the ones in the "clique," and now because of my mental illness, and that because of the shortcomings, I have had to find ways to prove myself and my worth as a human being to people. In essence, all I have ever wanted people to realize is, really, summed up in this one statement: I am not a bad person, just different, and all I want to do is to blend in with the rest of you who consider yourselves "normal." Apparently, though, achieving "normality" comprises of achieving the ultimate, the unattainable, the awesome, or, as was discussed in my Ethics class, simply something called "The Good." Whatever the case may be, I feel that maybe now I have found that some mystical force, namely God, has given me the "golden touch." I just hope and pray that I use it wisely and wield that gift judiciously, and that I don't meet the same fate as the monarch of myth, King Midas, met, for after all, one can have too much of a good thing.
Some say I'm an intellectual. Maybe they're right, and maybe they're wrong, but one thing's for certain: I just want to be free.
Well, it's yet another day in the Hundred Acre Wood, and the human race hasn't blown itself up yet. That's the good news. The bad news? Hmmm...can't think of any, which means that's a good thing!
I wanted to add a little note to you, my faithful readers (though few and far between), to forewarn those of you who may object to some of the content (e.g. foul language, blasphemous themes, and just the general dark themes some of my work dabbles into) that has been published on this blog. I want to make one thing abundantly clearly to everyone who reads this: this is not for the faint of heart, and what you read is, really, the bearing of my soul. I think that even the most devout of Christians, for which I am one, will admit that they have their inner "demons" which haunt them in their waking hours and in their dreams. For me, take what the average person has and multiply it times ten. I have a medical condition known in today's medical field as Bipolar Disorder, or better described by its old fashioned name, manic depression. I think that most of you will take note that I'll have a few poems written in a sequence that are, say, more on the positivistic side of "Is-The-Glass-Half-Full-Or-Half-Empty" sphere, while others are definitely anthetical. Sometimes, I'll even have one love poem followed by one that is just, well, for lack of a more intellectual phrase, "bitchy and hateful." I really worry about that sometimes, feeling that people read into my patterns and think, "Boy, that Henderson kid, he sure is an A-1 Nut Boy," when in reality, I'm not. To tell you the truth, poetry has saved my life, because on many occasions I would begin writing down a poem when I felt like committing suicide (Suicidal tendancies is a hallmark symptom of the depressed "pole" of the mood spectrum, which is divided into two poles, mania and depression.) . I put my ideas down on paper, and guess what? I'm still here.
You know, some people have asked me why I haven't considered going into journalism because they've felt that I had some kind of talent in both my creative and persuasive writing mechanics, and these people are teachers who my mother works with who have read my work. I'm really honored and flattered by the fact that these highly educated and esteemed people would say such nice things, but I really have other ambitions. I don't feel like that being a jouralist is my calling in life. What I want to do is to teach history in either a high school or college. However, I have been giving some serious thought and consideration to attempt being published. I have been writing poetry now since September of 2000, around the time I gave up playing the trombone, and I feel that, as good as I was on my instrument, I am light years ahead of that in the current state of my honed writing skills. Who knows? Maybe I will make some money off of this, and maybe I can live a good life, help out my family with living a high standard quality of living, and donate money to the two charities which really hit close to home with me: The Autism Society of America, and The Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance. All my life, I have felt that I've had some serious shortcomings, whether it was because of my weight, the fact that I was not an athlete, the fact that I was not one of the ones in the "clique," and now because of my mental illness, and that because of the shortcomings, I have had to find ways to prove myself and my worth as a human being to people. In essence, all I have ever wanted people to realize is, really, summed up in this one statement: I am not a bad person, just different, and all I want to do is to blend in with the rest of you who consider yourselves "normal." Apparently, though, achieving "normality" comprises of achieving the ultimate, the unattainable, the awesome, or, as was discussed in my Ethics class, simply something called "The Good." Whatever the case may be, I feel that maybe now I have found that some mystical force, namely God, has given me the "golden touch." I just hope and pray that I use it wisely and wield that gift judiciously, and that I don't meet the same fate as the monarch of myth, King Midas, met, for after all, one can have too much of a good thing.
Some say I'm an intellectual. Maybe they're right, and maybe they're wrong, but one thing's for certain: I just want to be free.
posted by Conservatively-Speaking | 10:34 PM
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