Island of Lost Souls

September 16 2015

about seventy steps in the writing of 

Abandoned In Sanctuary

yesterday's words gave me a very deep insight into

August Hawthorne

to all intent having ways of a man

but

physical attributes primitive to the roads he walked

without intent yesterday's chapter took on 

strains of an H.G. Wells novel

Island of Lost Souls

ABANDONED IN SANCTUARY

Will continue working on Book 19 ~ The Resident ~ today

Preliminary artwork and title came together for the twentieth book about half an hour ago.

~ ABANDONED IN SANCTUARY ~

Vague impressions coming into my head

~one~

main character caught between two dimensions 

walking them both

one more primitive than the other

~two~

a man who has committed himself to seclusion 

in a locked room in a victorian mansion

as he deteriorates from man to ape

waiting to be drawn back into a forgotten past

a forgotten world outside earth

maybe akin to Edgar Rice Burroughs John Carter character

had to tell where the book will go 

until within the actual writing stage.

SEPTEMBER 7TH 2015 ~ MONDAY

Today would have been Ellie's sixty fourth birthday

a part of me wishes that I hadn't of moved so far away from her grave

always feel that I've abandoned her to the deepest loneliness left in this life

no one to sit by her / no one to talk to her / hold her close in memory

Don't know what fate has in store for me 

but

I hope when my time comes to leave this life

that I will come home to rest by her side forever

if in the ways of nature Holly leaves life before me

I will return to Albany to be with Ellie

In a very quiet way I always believe Ellie comes to me on her birthday

she she passed away

she brings shadows of experience

 that I am compelled to follow within my writing

with a sense that I will find her again somewhere on that road

this week she brought me shadows of something that was once real

her visits to see her father in a mental institution in Northampton

when she was a child

the ill fate that she had followed in his footsteps 

inheriting his mental illness

in itself that experience should be a novel in itself

but

who's to remain to tell me intimate details of Ellie's life

have considered talking to her sister in Seattle

approach that idea

but

why would I say but?

I should just follow those highways

see where it will go

Had always considered publishing an update volume of her book

PICTURES POEMS AND MONKEY PAWS

with a very detailed biography of Ellie's life

maybe this is the time to propose that to Marastella ?

In the gray spaces between now and then

it is obvious that I should follow 

what I believe to be Ellie's touching of her mind against mine

with this novel

ABANDONED IN SANCTUARY

I have no doubt that tinges of Ellie's reality and my grief

will paint sections of this book like rain on a Monday Morning

I know she will be standing near me with her gentle ways

as the words take presence and belonging of her soul

I feel that I am dying here

starving for the inevitable need 

to go away

find my way back to her grave

there is no recovery from the sorrow that's wounded me

just the waiting to be back with her

~just~

the recovery of ashes to memory

to

the days when I can hold her close to me

I wish I understood what all of this writing has meant

it chose to pull me out of the blue

speak to me in foreign tongues that won't let me sleep

it's a bitter sweet sanctuary tempering the pain inside me

but

I can't hide forever behind these words

when the day comes I will leave it all behind

come to be alone with Ellie in a place where she will 

never be alone again

I cherish that she has chosen to remain with me

even past the border she has crossed in death

' It will work out someday Ellie . I will be coming home to you

I Promise it will be that way

when the last word is written

when

the last breath taken

I will be close to you like I was suppose to do

was suppose to be

I should have said it all when I was close to you

like I was suppose to do

please let it rain ~ let me come home to you

before it's too late Ellie 

September 7th ~ 9:08 am

Hadn't intended my mind to drift so deeply into the sorrow I feel today

stepping away from it as best as I can to follow beginnings of book twenty.

there isn't much to the plot or characters yet

August Hawthorne came out of a strange dance held in my head

an obsession to own an ape mask

had nothing specific in mind; but, kept coming back to one mask

something of an Orangatang 

probably created for one of the Planet of The Apes films

it took me months before I finally mail ordered the mask to myself

in an odd paradox

one more ape mask also came with that order

~and another mask~

nothing like the ape visions held in my head

this one was crafted only with black plastic symbolic of

a front line cop assault protection gear

after several photographs taken with these masks hiding my face

it became a haunting dawn that both should be adversaries 

in a book I normally wound not ever contemplate.

a few days passed before I came across a word and photographic site

about the mental institution in Northampton, Massachucetts

where my father in law had ended his life sometime in the seventies.

and it seems that I am at that crossroad between those two ideologies

that curiously needs to make me draw them together in this book.

there will be traces of reality

 my belief 

weaving throughout demons of this book

~no~ ?

nothing is apparent until I've been released

into each page of the book

the only thing I can be assured of is

Ellie brought me to these roads this weekend

whether it be closure

putting demons to sleep

or

waking me to a new understanding

is yet to be revealed

in

ABANDONED TO SANCTUARY

Ape Suit Cinema

Somewhere in vicinity of 1956 I became old enough to drift away from 

my family's house to begin shaping my own life.  At ten years old I had

no concept of what that was to find out who I was / what I would be as

the years began.  I just knew I had aged enough to explore streets and

the city that my parents had taken residence in.

If in looking back now, it was The Eagle Theatre that adopted me

took me into writing / old time movie serials / movies 

none of that experience ever left my mind or blood

~especially those screen exhibitions that held images of 

gorillas / apes / savage men surviving outside society.

as years passed away from my childhood

all of those impressions and images became just memories

an occasional sharing of talk with others

who had been where I had been.

~oddly~

~ sublimitly ~

I still held this peculiar desire to be just as all of them were on big screen

one imagine haunted my life 

a morsel of a dream that I would want to be that someday

it seems a bi insane now

but

being a gorilla ~ that's what it was 

Just passed my 69th Birthday in May

that being a warning sign

that if there is anything left needed to be experienced

it better be day by day ~ minute into minute

just crossing into September taking some of those dreams out of memory

making it some sense of reality

bought two anthropoid masks in the last two weeks

have one more

 on the way through postal services

becoming an ape is a rough learning curve !

only wear the masks on coming to my computer

very rarely step outside the front door to snap a photo or two

of my alter existence

~thing is ~

have been living in isolated parts of South Canaan, Pennsylvania

deep into farm country with cows and chickens 

farmers that aren't quite redneck; but, will shoot anything baring fur

remnisent of any kind of animal outside being a cow

~so~

I have become something of a closet ape 

coming out of hibernation

exhibiting inbred mannerisms of an ape

in privacy of a home that just accepts weirdness

for whatever it is

within my interpretation of I and I as ape these days

it's just an extension of my need to keep writing

just to keep feeling something

never keep going back to repeating anything

~so~

for now

I reside within the ape hood of my mind

waiting to see what that way will bring out of my mind into words

August Hawthorne and Canaan Lancaster are the tentative birth names

who will take on most of the writing responsibilities vacated by

E. Aubrey Andrews at completion of his nineteenth novel

~ THE RESIDENT `

It took almost a year 

to get my car back on the road after relocating to Pennsylvania

it may take another six months

 to map out locations I need to accommodate publication of my books

seems to be an appropriate time to sacrifice

still have to organise pages to the past four novels

print them out on appropriate paper before I can get them bound

don't know where the writing

 under August and Canaan's hand and mind 

will guide me ?

thinking one or two books might just be collections 

drawings taken from my archives

another volume or two might be pictures and poems 

can't predict until those days come to ravage my mind

The Resident seems to be at crossroads

the centre of the book

all I need are seven to nine days of intense obsession

raping my mind for every road it can take

have no doubt the book will be done

just can't force it

nothing I've ever written seems real 

until

it's taken out of my hands

until

it's that voice inside me incessantly talking about strange things

that I would have no knowledge of on my own

I still believe that I am no author

just

the transcriptionist for someone outside me

I write for them

I am awed / mystified / envious / excited

that I am the only one to know of their travels

privileged to be their unconventional confessional

that they believe in with no distrust or reservation

maybe that makes me a biographer rather than an author ?

tend to like restrictions if there are any left in me

~ biographer ~ ?

~ no ~

there is no written acceptance in the book world 

for what I am

~ Confidant ~

seems appropriate for foreign ways I've captured life in writing

what is it

the man who collects butterflies behind glass frames

~ A Collector ~

I suppose that is and has been what I am

It seems remote to be concerned that Canaan and August

won't approach writing in the way I did

I don't know how I will handle that moment of separation 

when it comes ?

I think that I might just walk away from whatever last book has 

my credential attached to it

~allow~

that what August and Canaan do 

is

a parallel or extension to what I was

they will have met / seen / been with different people in their lives

that I could never conceive of

I suppose there will be vague references in their writings about

the connection of them to me

~seems that it shouldn't matter to me what they do

when they separate ~ go their own way

~guess~ ?

ultimately what I should do is to be

the end The Resident 

where there will be no place to go back to

+

that might also be the way of the last 18 books

close them down with an ending no one escapes from

but

I really don't want to be forced to go back

don't want to execute my past

~ so ~

when those last E. Aubrey paragraphs are written

I will walk away from the daylight of those words

close the door behind me

forget that I had ever existed in any step or word of those books

close down the past

see if I can't exist as August Hawthorne

be

symbolically 

Canaan Lancaster 

as if I had never been born into anyone else but them

intrigued premise to see if I can do that .

In The Need To Keep Documenting

Volume One of THE BRIDGE WALKER JOURNALS burned to DVD today ! It's a compilation of forty three videos created on You Tube over the past two years. Still twenty videos yet to be transferred to volume two. It's a very long process but in the end believing the two compilations will be a very trance emotional experience for those who choose to view these projects as it was for me in creating them.

Have been trying to download all of the videos onto a companion blog in Blogger.com enhanced by text relating what my emotions found within each video. That project tends to be erratic. Some videos contain too much material / won't download. Can't see editing any of the videos to fit. So? will have to sacrifice those pieces much to my sadness.

Use to believe in a quote someone once told me when I was on the road with Reggae Bands ~ The End Justifies The Means. No longer agree with that philosophy. Inner integrity and belief in what is given to one in this strange life is more justified than compromising ones soul of creativity and expression.

When this project is completed, believe it is time to create a visual project closer to things that haunt my mind. Hidden somewhere in the basement archives is a DVD recording camera bought but never used while living in Albany. Have to dig it's bones up in the next week or two for the project that still hasn't found it's way into my head.

With Holly at work during the days have had time and needed isolation to scavenge through ruins of my mind to write about / document secret depths of my life outside this meager existence that I walk in this life. In time I might want to understand all of the roads I have walked in written word; but, it is less important now in this transient passage of my life. I need to keep documenting what mysteriously flows through me while I can or it will be lost / forgotten forever. I will have had no purpose to this hallow life I walk if there is nothing to leave behind foe eyes of curious stranded transients like me.

Two novels still lay open vulnerable to wounds of neglect

AT THE END OF THE DAY

THE RESIDENT

Not sure what happened to distract me from those roads

got caught up in a detour

slipped back into an insecurity that fed on my mind

told me nothing that I was was real

I lived outside the life that I had always been to survive

my head danced on edges of a solitude darker than

any of the roads I had know

went down to the inside of this world

forgetting hope

giving up on roads that blinded themselves from my hunger

I drifted down into a bleakness of days

spent time with a grey shadow

who chose to dance close to me

as

my mind slid away from the naked truths of

what I had once been

He wasn't a dark angel or the devil coming to visit me

just a passer bye with words of fate

that held no wisdom

just his vague fading away from forever

I can only now see that he was just as lost in this world as I

but

he had come to me as his purpose

his last words 

before being stolen away

from the futile worry that he was

One day he stopped coming to visit

I did miss him

for in some odd reality

he had come to stay to warn

where he would go

broken

alone with no one to remember

no epitaph

just a shadow walking about bleeding souls

trying to heal them

before life became too impossible

after the rains that came

~ his name ~ ?

I struggle to remember the day he reached his hand out

in an old way of friendship

he was dying in lightning

shaking from the fate he knew waited 

I regret that I never took his hand in mind

he has gone

he'd stopped played~stopped staying around

but

I knew he was there

the Crucifixion of my recovery

he was a soldier of destiny

sacrificing himself

for the history of bringing me back

to be what I once was

~his name ~ ?

I still struggle to know his name

in this time of the year

in

this time when my mind wakes up from this war

that I defined to escape from

there is no going away from who or what I am

I had the shadow of someone believe in me

pull me out of the dying

I had gone into

It was such a shame that I can't remember his name

I lay awake every night needing sleep

I see him sitting outside the window of my home

he sits rocking to questions he knows he has left behind

he stays with me so close

but

I am so far away in remembering his name

it seemed so sweat that he remained

I know his name as quite time comes to my mind

~ Jaiumie ~ 

Jaiumie Train ~

Jhaiume

remembered that he hadn't just come to me as errant souls do

I had seen him before in the city

walking with others I had once known

he had danced in addictions of a teenage body

feeling virtue's body against him

she had broken wings

was scared

but

he never saw any of that ugliness

that had ruined her from things one must adore

he remembered the youth coming back to him before dawn

quietly waiting for him to wake

' She had green eyes Malachai

never saw anyone like her

what is she ' ?

Malachai grunted in painful restlessness

as he rolled over to find Jaqiume's eyes staring down at him

' She's a broken Angel

you better be aware boy

she';s known nothing about love

you come to her too soon with your pleading and desire

she will leave you in bitterness

she might even cut you into desolation

because

lover is a strange fear to her

a sweet bitterness than regret of dying '

August 19th 2015 ~ Wednesday

Began the day 

waking in an absurd hour that my body always seems to be with

~four am~

drifted inside the outside of sleep for an hour

sometimes trying to see what the new day would bring

by eight am had taken a shower hot with scents of sulfur

had filled one of Holly's blue coffee mugs with strawberries and shredded wheat

wasted away the morning trying to download my YouTube Videos

to a new blog in Bogger.com 

Three hours later

 realized none of those downloads

 went where I needed them to go

Decided to spend the afternoon listening to several music Cd's

that I hadn't been into in awhile

for whatever that whatever is

the music dragged me back into gray passages of my mind

allowed doors to open

that left m,e needing to write about the experiences

I was capable of seeing on the other side.

those words found their way mistakenly into today's writings

when they beloved to one or another of the novels

still to be completed 

Nothing wrong with that

can always cut / copy / past where those thoughts belong