“LOCKED UP INSIDE” (new text by GT 2019)

“ISOLATION”PAINTING MADE WITH COFFEE @Gerald Thomas – London 2003

“LOCKED UP IN HIS HEAD” @copyright Gerald Thomas , Wengen – CH – April 20, 2019

They find it simply unconscionable: “What? On such a beautiful day, sun out, warm temperature, beautiful outdoors, he is locked up in his dark room, blinds drawn, eyes shut, wide shut, sitting and writing all about the voices in his past? Really?”

“Gerry Boy!” Open this door at once! This, what you’re doing is not healthy! You understand ? You MUST come out for some fresh air.

The village had no understanding. None. Some neighbors were sympathetic. They began their crusade against me like that over the years, noticing that this was “his earned” behavior and that “his earned celebrity status”. And that allowed for some eccentric behavior. These neighbors even defended him in public, whenever necessary.

Leave him alone, will you? How on earth does his solitude disturb you in such a huge manner?”, one was overheard saying.

Dylan Thomas. Yes, him. Dylan Thomas.

The Welsh and the Native Americans! Oh, much more in common than you think.

“Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.”

That is Dylan. But it should have been, could have been a gypsy or a Native American Indian.

They locked them up. Not in their heads. They locked them up in HELL !!!!

I was one of them. I still am.                             

I am a part and apart from everything. My middle name is Thomas because of Dylan Thomas. Is it?

They find it simply unconscionable: “What? On such a beautiful day, sun out, warm temperature, beautiful outdoors, he is locked up in his dark room, blinds drawn, eyes shut, wide shut, sitting and writing all about the voices in his past? Really?”

Always this past of mine.

In my short Shakespearean  Prosperean Tempestuous “Hunting Season” (written so early on in my life), and in the first seven Chapters of my autobiography, I pay little attention to the orthography or etymology. What matters there is the fluidity of the music. And yet, I was already LOCKED UP !!!!

Just imagine what it would be like traveling on that Spanish super galleon, the ‘San Salvador’ – the first ever to reach the Pacific Coast of the Americas. And imagine how much damage that must have caused if, by any chance, you were watching from up there, from up on a mountaintop, wearing a beautiful bonnet, full plumage…Imagine watching those Armada people descending the ropes with their Catholic prejudices and judices and ALL DOWN THE LINE AND ALL UP FOR GRABS and for a HUGE Indian appetite ?

It’s good to know that there was a Goya in my past. Pity that they had to call his best period, the “Black Period”.

Good to know that there was a deconstructionist and a constructivist and an iconoclastic period, as well as a post-modern and a….(yeah, where does it end? The headache?)

I’m somewhat satisfied! What about ? Nothing really.

Satisfied that I still get headaches.

And…sometimes even proud.

Of what? Don’t know, really.

Proud that I was able to write “Gastrointestinal Prayer” in time.

But in time for what, that I don’t know.

And it all makes sense when I read Kafka’s biography because nothing ever made sense there since he didn’t, he couldn’t ….he wasn’t….. you see?

Sadness is really an incurable thing.

But they all want to “cure you”. It’s a terrible thing. They all think they know the answer.

Bits and pieces of Brecht’s “Caucasian Chalk Circle” mentions nothing about that. Why? Because there is a WAR ! There is a WAR going on.

And now?

Sadness is really an incurable thing.

And now – you might argue….- there is another kind of war going on. Yes, you might argue that. But it’s not like this: “ Morning Steve. You and I are both Jewish or, say, from Jewish backgrounds. Not sure whether or not you heard story after story (at breakfast lunch and dinner) of the holocaust, of the 1929 crash, of all the wars, famine, misery, bombs falling, V1s V2s or other tomato infested smoothies. The point is: has it really ever been different?

Has it ever been different OR do we constantly fall into this silly abyss of illusion to think that “now” (oh now!) things are better and more progressive ….

Right. Not THAT kind that war. Goya could take anything. Anything. But not that kind of war.

“Gerry Boy!” Open this door at once! This, what you’re doing is not healthy ! You understand ? You MUST come out for some fresh air.

 They find it simply unconscionable: “what, on such a beautiful day, sun out, warm temperatures, beautiful outdoors, he is locked up in his dark room, blinds drawn, eyes shut, wide shut, sitting and writing all about the voices of his past? Really?”

Right. Not THAT kind that war. Goya could take anything. Anything. But not that kind of war.

Gerald Thomas

@April 20, 2019

WARMONGERS -"ISOLATION"PAINTING MADE WITH COFFEE @Gerald Thomas - London 2003

WARMONGERS -“ISOLATION”PAINTING MADE WITH COFFEE @Gerald Thomas – London 2003

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