"If" - my autobiography!
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- Parts 3
Ongoing9m
Last published Wed, May 4, 2016
Intro...
They say there is a book in all of us.
I for one, feel a plethora of books in me!
Each of which could rival 'Prousts' lost time masterpiece, arguably one of the longest penned to paper!
My story is a basic 'Riches to rags' tale laced with double entendres and a happy ending (so far). Pragmatists will no doubt accuse me of paraphrasing stanzas, sonnets and even extracts of Shakespears tales in the pages to come. If it were so, twould be a grievous fault.
For much of my life, I have empathised with authors and characters, reinterpreting the metamorphics with a hint of whimsy or sarcasm as the will takes me.
"To thine own self be true", Polonius imparts to Laertes. So let it be with Steve! Over 90% of the 1000+ jokes I can impart at will, are for my own enjoyment, and not for the listening hoi polloi. I often get lost in my own soliloquy. Humour is partly what has made me who I am. Many of my friends have been astounded over the years at how I seem to bounce back from events that would lead others to protracted periods of sadness or anger. If it were indeed not for the likes of Billy Connolly, Black Adder, Monty Python & Fawlty Towers to name a few, I may not be here today! On the brink of a depressive moment, the mere thought of '4 candles' is enough to lift my spirits to the skies.
Guides to writing a best selling autobiography will sadly be in sharp contrast to my self absorbed efforts. I doubt when I am gone if even my most loyal or sorrowful of friends will read the entire narrative, let alone understand it. In my last moments before I meet St Peter, this knowledge will I am sure bring me solace, just as the utterance of 'a plague on both your houses' did for Mercutio.
Footnote: added February 2021. Following the awful Covid-19 pandemic to date, I am focusing on other narrative projects, as I do not want to address my memories with my current melancholic state of mind!!
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This is a collection of my writing from the past 7 years. Before I started to write, I was a very lost individual, as are most teens, but I was lost in darkness. I was too afraid to move anywhere at all. I hid in the dark, debilitated by my own anxiety, sadnesses, anger, and hopelessness. I was desperate to be loved and feared it the most, I was a coward, I was self-destructive, I would mentally bend my thoughts to the point of bordering insanity. I was born into this world alone, and got too comfortable with it. Maybe I still am, but a fraction of what I used to be. This writing is extremely vulnerable, and potentially disturbing to others, as all my weaknesses, strengths, obsessions with making every moment sentimental, the sickening desperation I've had, the destructiveness, and the constant brutal reconstruction of my mind. Without guidance, it's been absolute intense chaos. Though, there is beauty in the darkness. Everything can be found in the darkness. You'll find that through my writing, I've somehow slowly become exactly what I've written. A living representation of my writing and what I wanted to be. Without myself even knowing it. A lot of my writing themes are based around nature, or some kind of natural aspect. The imagery I paint with natural metaphors is constant, the animals, just like you and I, the plants, and all other living things. I planted these seeds in my mind, unknowingly at the time, where I now feel the deep dark green jungle pressing at the inner walls of my skull. It's all that I want to consume my mind. There's so much to learn. The magic of nature, and it's infinite wisdom. It's as if I have been on this path all along, and I didn't even know what I was doing, yet my body and mind were passively taking care of me. Giving me and eventually showing exactly what I want, and wanted to become. I have every moment, every instance of suffering, and every epiphany to be thankful for. Soon, I'll be at peace from the raging storm.
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