Sunday 5/21/23
Yesterday I went to Rockport for the first time in several years. The pain is simply too great. Construction on the railway line also complicated matters, making the seventy-five minute trip--which is one-way--much longer. The train goes direct now and yesterday was Motif #1 Day, which is when the town celebrates the famed fishing shack that has been painted by so many artists over the years.
So I went. I've never shared a photo of my house on here. The house I am trying to get back. It's simple, really. I believe--because my work is what my work is, and I am what I am--that I can change the world to the good more than anyone ever has. I mean that literally. Soberly, straightly. Just what I said.
For myself and my work, I simply want what I, and, more importantly, it, deserves. Then I want peace. I want to keep creating, knowing that work will do what that work can do. On a level playing field because I made it level. Without having to deal with the bigots of publishing, save having ended every last one of them. I want to be with someone special. If there is anyone special left in this world. I want my house in Rockport, a house on Cape Cod, a place here in Boston. And outside of that, and a few friends if I'm able to find people worthy of that designation, and worthy of my time, and what I give, I pretty much just want to be away from the rest of it all. In nature. Surrounded by art. And creating, knowing what that work will do in the world.
My house is a simple house. I want to make a billion dollars. I still want this simple house to be a house of mine. Look how plain it is. It's strange in its shape. A long house. I discovered yesterday that it has been painted this horrible green color. It should be white. The house is actually two structures fused together. The one nearest the street is from almost 200 years ago. It has had these awful, garish, needless solar panels stuck to the roof. There is no other house in all of Rockport with this kind of monstrosity. So those will need to come off.
But I went to Rockport and I stood in front of my house for some time. This house where I wrote three books. I stood in front of it from various angles. At the side of it. And I just felt the pain. I let myself feel the pain. The pain of Molly, who is the most evil person there can be, knowing what she did, doing what she she did. The complete set up. The double life she led. The manipulation. The gaslighting. The psychotic level of gaslighting. The betrayal. Without a single prompt or warning that she was doing any of it, when she was in fact planning it. All of her exacting lies. So many lies. The narratives of lies and deceit. The cowardice. And a level of betrayal--an engineered, labyrinthine level of betrayal--that is stupefying in everything it involved. Then the lies she sold everyone else she knew and I'm sure everyone else else she's known since. This person who is a lie incarnate. All lies.
I will have something beyond revenge. Revenge isn't the right word. The truth will all come out. There will be the full accounting. That'll be the book. Of what was done to me, and what I endured. How I endured it. How I kept fighting. What I am, what that other person is. What I evolved into, when anyone else would have given up. They never would have recovered from something like that, which isn't something that happens to people. In a story. Well told. Truthfully told. Better told than any story anyone else could tell. A story from a life. This person's life.
I stood in front of my house and I thought about these bigots of publishing, who are their own kind of evil the likes of which the world has never known. There is nothing like these people. And you have this diseased, wretched industry stuffed with them. And basically nothing else.
I made myself stand there in the pain. And I thought, "This? You feel this? It never goes away until you prevail. This total hurt. This torture. You do not lose to these people. No matter what it takes."
I'm not someone who lacks for motivation. No one has ever lacked for motivation less than I have. If there's a God and he's driven, I'm more driven than he is. If you could say that nature is comprised of forces, and they are driven in their ways, I am more driven than they are.
But I stood there and made sure I felt all of that pain, with it right in my face, so I can fight even harder.
It's almost two in the morning on Sunday. I have been working. And now I will go back to work.
Total focus. Matchless art. No mercy when we get there.
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