I walk barefoot, this urge I have so strong. Not because I’m naked nor poor nor in need of shoes. But because I’m curious. To feel and reconnect. From asphalt sidewalks to muddy fields of grass. A voyage through the unforeseen, that’s seen. And we all wonder, why the poor are seen.
We walk barefoot. And as the blades of grass caress our heels, the sunshine rains between our toes. I feel I know you more. Back home we dance. I witness all your life. Your past and present and what’s to come, as you sway your feet across the floor.
And in the morning, our feet cold from loneliness are touching slightly. We’ve left the world behind. We’ve left the places. We’ve left time itself. A sobering stillness melting from below. Bare feet touching anticipating another day.
No words are needed. No sounds. No smiles. We mold our dreams from clay. Making shapes, telling stories, and painting footprints on our way.
I by no means whatsoever claim nor ever will that what I write has any special significance or inherent value to anyone but myself. I do not claim nor ever will that I am a uniquely talented writer and do not really think so. However, after recently attempting to publish some of my poems in the form of an E-Book and failing to attract that much interest from the world I realized that most writers these days and people in general are constantly thriving for the approval of others and for some sort of recognition or appreciation for what they deem so great and worthy to share.
The bottom line is that throughout history the greatest artistic creations were rarely recognized or appreciated only to be picked up many years later by revisionists – analyzed and dissected. Added to that of course, is the great amount of competition writers are forced to acclimate themselves with these days in the realm of publishing.
I found myself thriving to craft my work and package it in a way that would sell to the average buyer on a virtual store that sifts through hundreds of book covers. Consumerism is eating away from our ability to share valuable information. Consumerism has made our minds more geared towards idiosyncratic gratification that is not in line at all with the difficult and sometimes unpleasant messages that result from inspiring works of art.
So a creative mind today is faced with two options. Either go rogue and write without caring about being recognized – and recognition here (for the record) is for the sake of sharing and not vanity – or allow yourself to compromise the quality of your message in return for higher chances of dissemination. Packaging, toning down, addressing certain issue areas and styles, digital marketing, graphic design, keywords, hash tags, artistic approaches, trending genres etc. are all noble ways to reach a wider audience.
However, is there a way to maintain that raw message resulting from pure inspiration and that desire to share with as many people as possible? No, and that has become clear to me now. There is no value judgement in this statement. Those who wish to reach a mass quickly and effectively have every right to do so. I do not think that the quality or value of their messages are less relevant or of inferior quality. But I do think that true and raw inspiration cannot be packaged and disseminated widely at the click of a button. It needs time to mature and slowly grow organically into the everyday lives of people.
That said, after more than 2 years I’ve decided to refrain from publishing and turn this blog into a virtual scrapbook in which I share any message I feel I need to share, any poem or couplet, any prose or thought or image. A virtual scrapbook of a person that honestly and earnestly appreciates beauty and longs for inspiration in a world that is in dire need of both.