I’ve written and trashed about 3 posts today.  None of them seemed to say quiet what I wanted them to.  Maybe I don’t know what I want the blog to say today.  I don’t feel very well and it’s messing with my head.  Now getting into the head of a character or the voice I’m using in a book is a totally different matter.  I’m pretending to not be me for the most part or, in the case of the witch book, I’m trying to give out advice and information so I wouldn’t let l something like not feeling so great get in the way.  But I kind of feel responsible to put something out for this blog.

I’ve been listening to, and watching some, Joy Division songs and videos.  Do you know that someone stole his original grave marker which said, aptly: Love Will Tear Us Apart.  Why do people do that?  Another, that I hold very dear, is Jim Morrison.  Why graffiti all over his headstone?  I can understand a pilgrimage.  I can understand wanting to know more about artists that changed things for the world.  But they left their marks, why should we leave our marks on them even after they have nothing left to offer us?

I think for the great artists, and in this case I mean musicians, they gave everything they had and then stood on a stage to offer it up to us.  I appreciate that I can hide behind pages and words.  These people had the courage to go in front and sing or scream their poetry to crowds.  After giving so much of themselves that they ended so early, by drugs or drink or their own hand, should we ask for more?  And I get that it’s hard to accept.  They’re singing to you aren’t they?  They understand you.  Don’t they?

Is it so much different from the mysterious stranger who leaves roses on Poe’s grave every year.  I don’t know.  I’m rambling, gothlings.  But I have to say that I think artists, whatever type, give everything they have while they’re around to give it.  Is it possible that we give so much of ourselves to our creativity that when the end comes, there’s nothing left?