My Darlin’. I wish I could cry to death

MY DARLIN’. The animation is ready. My last year at the Edinburgh College of Art is almost complete and this post deals mostly with the process of making the film, though in truth I just wanna whine about the uncertainty of my future and fear. FEAR. Period.

MYDARLIN

So, “My Darlin'” deals with one’s relationship to death. It’s a plead to the creator for one’s unhappy existence to be terminated (to be, or not to be? Hamlet Omlet). It’s about the lack of understanding of the world as well as lack of being understood by the world. According to Saint Francis, it’s better to understand than to be understood; but what’s the difference, really. All pain is the same in nature, it just manifests in various ways, and it equates to FEAR. Which comes from EGO (Edging God Out, as Wayne Dyer deciphered).

Anyway, how about I’ll write down the lyrics:

It’s a wonderful thing
When you’re left alone
You’re left alone
Nobody
Understands where you coming from

Oooh
My darling. My darling.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

Oooh (oooh)
My darling (darling)
My darling.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

Hey, you up in heaven
Didn’t you think that I would want to die
Why you won’t take me
Into your loving arms
Tell the death to come by near
Take me away I don’t wanna be here
Nobody understand my mind
Nobody understand my mind (sick mind)

Oooh (oooh)
My darling. My darling.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

Woooah,
My darling. My darling.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

I’m so small. I have no balls (no balls)
People ignore me everywhere I go
Every turn I turn
Every step I step
There’s always somebody telling me
That I amount to nothing but waste, so

Mmm,
My darling. My darling
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

Oooh
My darling. Ah.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

Have you ever had, have you ever had
Your eyes
Swollen
Swollen
Swollen
Swollen, swollen
Swollen
Swollen eyes.

Haaah, do you know how it feels
When there’s nobody
To turn to
When your parents don’t
Do what they should do, oh

There was no love
No love for me
There is no love, oh

So, oh!
My darling. My darling.
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death
Ah-oh-uh-ah-oh-uh

Ooooh, my darling
My darling
I wish I could cry to death
I wish I could cry to death

 

PROFOUND. Scary to think I actually just wrote “I wish I could cry to death”, uh, sixteen times. I don’t really want to suffer and I hope writing down the song’s lyrics is not going to bite me in the ass based on the law of attraction. I don’t want to cry and I don’t want to die – I just wanna live a happy life making art like my hero Salvador Dali. Even if birthing art is fueled by pain, I just refuse the idea that I could ever stop making it and I totally refuse to think I won’t be successful. My art is good, beech. Yezitiz. I believe in it. Unfortunately it seems it is harder to be a credible artist (based on the ratio of names in the big bad art galleries) when you’ve won a pussay in the gene lottery. I didn’t ask to be a woman and, frankly, if I were asked and able to choose, I would have chosen a dangling slug between my legs. Why? Because female objectification makes me want to puke. I’d rather be the objectificator than the objectified. I feel EVURRY-THANG and my emotional nature doesn’t help me tackle the tricky task of life. Plus, even Bible dislikes women; Eve was obviously a stupid slut and thanks to her we’re all born ratchet. Of course, Mary was good and pure, but she kept her legs shut for ever and ever which is superhuman especially in day and age when we’re conditioned by the cheap media hyper-sexuality. I’m neither Eve (I don’t run around the garden naked) nor Mary (I had too many boyfriends to be Mary); my brain wants to be Jesus, but I suppose I’m more like Adam – my good will gets hijacked by snakes and hoes. There are many other biblical options but there’s no EDY archetype so I’m paving my own way dreaming, hoping and praying; educating myself in the universal laws, but too often failing to apply them. I accept everything that happens inside of me however, with a background of unshakeable peace. There is nothing wrong with panic in times of merciless unknowing, is there?

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WTFWTC

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Anyway, back to “My Darlin'”. It was entirely hand drawn and it was the biggest pleasure of my creative life: to use my hands as a means of expression for 8 months straight, working to a script that was as fluid as I was, evolving to my life’s unfolding – free and unconstrained. I could just illustrate the ugliness of despair based on random creative impulses arriving at different times. I can say I am familiar with the vicious plague of unpleasant thoughts; the reoccurring visitor of pain with whom I am by now intimate, to the point of being desensitized. Death ain’t a big deal.

Just as a cherry on this cake, I’d like attach a few images taken during the process. My heart laughs and cries over the completion of this piece. I am now heading to the meadows to fry my face in the sun, so hallelujah and ciao, dear sir or madam.

 

 

 

 

 

May 14, 2018

One response to “My Darlin’. I wish I could cry to death”

  1. Tobe Damit says:

    Kool work my friend!!! I was just reading the reader (!) and the drawing with ”My Darlin’. I Wish I Could Cry to Death” totally got my attention, probably because it,s precisely how I’ve been feeling for more than a year now, ever since all my worst fears became a reality, like some kind of nightmarish reality show, or virtual reality psychological test, or… Maybe I should stop here…. I love the way all this is put together, all the pieces are at the right place. I know you’re not faking it. I heard you. I’m going to check on you, see what direction this is going…. Good luck and please, PLEASE!! Keep up the good work and stay real!

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