Monday, August 26, 2013

To Cultural Norm... Or to Tramp?

Dearest Loved Ones, All the Earth.


     I have landed safely and with God's grace had a couch to sleep on for the first few nights I was in London. I managed to make it out this morning to Holy Trinity Brampton, the church that started alpha. It was a very different Anglican service from the few I had experienced thus far. I have no idea how I am going to transition online poet, blogger and youtuber into guest speaker. Though I do have several possible avenues I can pursue, most of them sadly outside the church.

    Because I was so wounded by my peers for so long in the church growing up and into young adulthood I am disinclined to both trust the church and ask her for help. Mostly I do not ask because much of my art does not align itself with what seems to be comfortable or accepted as art or spoken word / message in the church today. Much of my poetry, though not all of it, is dark. This is so that those who suffer might identify with the words written. Being who I am, they can reach out to me via email or watch me on youtube or read my blogs. The people can see that I live by positivity, I live a life of hope and loving others despite my sorrows and misfortunes. This is because in Christ I persevere. Even when God seemed to have forsaken me entirely invisible, I persevered on in my faith. Knowing that it was surely truth.

    Whatever becomes of me, I live to write and I write to die, empty. That when I am laid in the ground there was not a single breath of the word of truth left within me to be said. If that be tomorrow a two years from now, I write on. I desire no riches, if all I ever had was the backpack at my feet and a bike to ride upon, I would be utterly content. Sadly I am not connected enough to live the life of a guest speaker, nor am I educated enough to be accepted as one and the art of poetry makes me no money.

    This week I launched the 'request a poem' button on my websites and a donation button as well. So that people can begin to reach me in a new manner that would allow me to craft them something special. To reconnect people to their human condition, their soul and thus opening the door for mending, through or into Christ Jesus eventually is my means. 

     Last night it was a hostel, not too shabby. I don't mind being a tramp, Jesus couch surfed for years... 

    What I could do is transfer work here, work full time, get an apartment, go to church and build a network of confidence that people might trust my words enough that I might be taken seriously... Thus eventually down the road I might be accepted as a public, guest poetic hope inspiring story telling speaker... But I think that would take time and effort away from writing. So instead I think I'll be like Christ and open my life up to the opportunities of faith, much like how I've  lived most of my life.

   I actually think I enjoy the life of a tramp, nothing but a small backpack, laptop and possibly a bicycle. Nothing else to keep me from pursuing the poetic hope inspired dreams of faith I long to live and share with others. Maybe someday I'll even be able to make a few dollars off my poetry via donations or public support. Then I continue on, travelling and speaking, writing and crafting amazing words for those who hurt.

    Even now, I am not out sight seeing, I haven't seen much of anything yet save Hyde Park since I walked through it on my way to Whole Foods Kensington Heights, I am writing. Last night I wrote here at in the cafe until it was time to check into the hostel, so I shall do so tonight. Tomorrow I will live much the same unless something else to do is presented, I believe there is a poetry cafe in the East End to visit and Speaker's Corner. I also applied for a Busking License to sell 'poetry for a pound... or two' in the London subway. Not so much as to make a living, though I hope to make at least 20 pounds to spend on food and shelter each day, but more so to give people an opportunity to re-connect back with humanity. When they either read or hear my words, they will know that someone in this world has seen them. Seen who they really are, accepted them and given them something meaningful, along with a smile and a hug.

   The other day it hit me, what stops me from walking around all day giving people poetry and human contact validation as they should desire it, the fear of losing my physical possessions, but what if I had none? If I had none would I spend all day writing, yes. Would I go out into the streets attempting to give people something entirely unique, yes! Does it matter in the grand scheme of making a living, being seen as equal to others and accepted... No, most certainly not. It matters only to those who see and inquire to receive.

    If I really believe in who I am, this socially awkward Russell Brand half handsome poet in Christ who lives to inspire hope... If I really believe in God, if I really do have faith, I will live this weird socially unacceptable counter culture dream! Not to be closer to the image of Christ, only to live the dream He hath given me. To write, to speak, to inspire equality for hope and virtue! 

    After all, it wouldn't take a thousand people to fund my lifestyle. I spend less than twenty pounds (30.00$ Dollars) a day on living and could spend even less if the opportunity of couch surfing were steady. All it would take is a few people, maybe even a single person, to empower me via donation to exist for a year or even more! I know not. 

   Sure enough a great amount of work is necessary in order to be considered of any value as an artist. I have written over a thousand lyric style poems on my blog, hundreds of blog posts and nearly six and a half thousand twitter (149 character) poems, if that is not enough work to be considered an artist of even the most amateur level, then I shall certainly be nothing forever. Dying alone in some gutter in a far off land where my bicycle finally decomposed underneath my rump.  The most blessed thing is, that I do not fear that day. If it be tomorrow or two years from now, I accept my path as a humble and broken yet striving poet.

In earnest anticipation of,
Juton

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