Life is funny, sometimes… you just never know what it has in store. Which is good, if you like surprises
Well before finding myself perched atop the highest mountain peak of my existence, I’d already endured trying trials of endurance, fortitude, and faith. It was the latter I’d been having trouble with. Lily too, come to think of it! Quite some time after the seeds of my novel, UNBOUND, had been sown, I’d found myself trapped in a hostile work environment and struggling to find time and energy to write the story. Not to put it over-dramatically, but the torments I stubbornly tolerated over the years threatened my health, sanity, and constantly tried to break my spirit. But I was bound and determined not to lose to the invading forces that always were battering at my Doors of Perception (pretty literally, as it turns out). The more they battered, the stronger my resolve became to wait them out; it was the principle of the thing. But would my faith in the story, and in myself, be sustainable?
It might not, I feared. And so I fought my way out, engaging The Enemy in his own court at his own game. At which I proceeded to get my ass kicked even more. My faith in my ability to outlast them wavered, although the ideas that had sprouted from the Story’s seed were taking root and growing through the impacted earth of the battlefield. These I was able to scribble down on stickees, collecting them like butterflies, and placing them in a box. But I couldn’t stop either to write or to smell the roses, as I was being constantly harrassed…
What had happened: I’d hurt my back after volunteering for a job that should have been done quicker by the proper department, but the Branch Manager wanted it done more quickly. So, I was tasked with moving a heavy desk that slipped off its transport, and when I moved to save it, wrenched my back pretty badly. (The nurse at the hospital took one look at it and exclaimed “oh my God!” when she saw how my spine looked.) You’d think that that things would go smoothly, it obviously being a Workmen’s Comp case. They did not, due to clever and malevolent machinations; management became determined to fire me or force me to quit. I resisted (to say the least), which only made things worse. Much.
So, after years of increasing incidents the number of which I will spare you, I began to get battered down. I was still able to write down ideas and sketches of my Story, but they became fewer in number as the constant battles at work went on. My back got worse, as so did their attacks. Eventually, seeing that I was not going to leave of my own accord, they piled on desk assignments, duties and responsibility, eventually giving me three desks that had formerly been handled by one person full time. And all were backlogged. I was ordered to get them caught up, with no mistakes tolerated. And if I had a problem with that, then I should know where the door was. Yeah, I did. AND, I did. So, I stayed, and fought, and worked.
You might be wondering: WHY did you stay? Well, because (a) I was doing good work and contributing to my community, (b) I was valued there, (c) I felt I was doing a small part to make this oftentimes cruel world a better, kinder place, and (d) I enjoyed being part of the Justice System, flawed as it might be. My mother, in my younger days, and alarmed at all the demonstrations and protests I took part in, and my “hippie lifestyle” (LOL), told me that “if you want to change The System, try to change it from within.” So, I thought I’d give it a try…
“They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom/for trying to change the system from within,” oh yes…
Well, I’ll tell you: The System doesn’t WANT to be changed, and will chew the shit out of anyone who tries. And so, upon discovering that, I became resolved to be a stone, and break their teeth whilst they gnashed at me. They monitored me like vultures would a ripe carcass, and picked what meat they could when they could, which was often. Soon enough, I was barely more than a skeleton’s worth, and fought not only them but my continual back pains, pneumonia, chronic bronchitis, and major depression, all brought on my their cruel tactics. I knew that it was time to change mine… but how?
One night while lying on my back on the floor, because there was nowhere else I could feel comfortable, I was in complete despair. Finally broken down, I curled into a fetal position and let the tears come; I couldn’t care anymore. I tried to ponder my options but couldn’t; there weren’t any. Trying to live in San Francisco without a good job was impossible. Things were bleak… and nothing but darkness was ahead on the road.
But then… in that particularly dark moment, ”She” came to me… that voice which I attributed to the one faithful and devoted being to have kept me company throughout these years while she teased me with snippets of a story she wanted to be written; that of my beloved Muse, who calmed me as I listened, ever grateful for her presence. And she said (more or less)… “Extricate yourself from this present situation, and then you may write our Story when you’re free. Have faith in me; keep it for your self and persevere. Do this and get it out into the World, and then all good things will come to you, and She will come as well.” (The “she” mentioned refers to That Special Person.) From that point on I worked at these goals, although it took some years to manage. Never once did I mistake this “still, small voice from within” for madness or hallucination or the like, so convinced was I of its sincerity, and what followed was and is the proof.
And to be sure, once I did escape and set about to writing, everything flowed as she said. Not only that, but the longer I lived “keeping the faith,” the more that positive encounters and events popped up along the way (aside from economic/unemployment matters, which sucked). The negativity and malicious beasts of my recent past had been left behind. Encouraged, I kept spotting signs of beneficent illumination provided by these signposts and marking my way as I climbed up the Mountain…
Then, I reached the top, when all of the creative work was finished. Time to return down to Earth, so as to present our offspring to the World! I reflect upon my Muse’s words and that prediction and that promise…
Navigating the treacherous waters surrounding the publishing industry, looking for somewhere to land… And now, after my query letters have finally begun going out in quantities hopefully sufficient to gain an opening in the Publisher’s walls, “She” has showed herself! You might have read about Lily here, and her conceptual designs/inspirations, and my mention of “Dee” being one of them. She is indeed Special For many years we’ve been apart, and I’ve fruitlessly searched for her by as many means as I had at my disposal. One recent day I was on a social networking site and thought, “what the hell; might as well try here.” And what do you know? She responded to my PM and sure enough, it was her! After nineteen years we’re going to have a reunion this week, and if she’s as joyful about it as I am then it’s going to be wonderful Â
Something she shared with me:
Choose your own analogy/symbology/metaphysics
So far, the Way of Living Through Faith has been unpredictable, scary, strenuous, exciting, exhilarating, and always interesting; this Grand Experiment of mine is coming alone fine. All that remains is to find that Agent or Publisher willing to be the conduit through which the Story is delivered… and so we’re working on that
“We’re gypsies Rob, we’ve always been.” Georges was speaking matter-of-fact, as if this was something he’d known to have always been true. I was struck with clarity the moment he’d uttered them. “We go to where we want to, when we want to, where the opportunities exist.” Damn, he was right…
I first met Georges around 1968. I was close friends with his sister Cathy, who later introduced me to Jimi Hendrix, Eric Burdon, Buddy Miles, and several other heroes of my youth. But hers is another long sad story, for another happier day; this one’s about Georges, and in particular, his words that day. In the intervening years between then and this meeting in 2005, we’d both moved around a lot, and had happened through serendipity to have relocated some fifteen miles apart, over twenty years since our last contact. He was researching a location to open up a new restaurant in the exact same town I’d been thinking of moving to. This in itself was remarkable enough of a coincidence, but the subject of that day was the chances of our meeting up again, the ways in which we arrived at that same place on the earth, and the various and vicarious means by which we got there.
We were gypsies. That made it all the more miraculous.
With Cathy’s assistance (and insistence no doubt) he got me my first job, at a little place called “Mori’s Kosher Style Delicatessen” located in San Francisco’s Financial District, in 1968, and run by a transplanted New Yorker named Mori Solomon. An older man and a funny, shrewd, and calculating Jew, I suppose he was something of a gypsy himself, having transplanted his successful and well-known eatery in N.Y.C. to the Bay Area of all places, anathema to an East-Coaster. His small establishment catered to the Montgomery Street business-and-Wall-Street types while being staffed by hippies, as unlikely a combination as you’d expect to find in those days of persecution. Mori was not a hippie. The above picture is an accurate snapshot of what kind of guy he really was. I think, in fact, that he might have been a fence. Beneath a huge trap door in the floor he had a cellar beneath the whole shop that was filled with everything you could imagine: televisions, toasters, disposable hypo needles, cameras, radios, you name it. And then there was his rooftop… He even, for those special occasions with special visitors, hauled out a kitchen sink for those who marvelled at the diversity of his collection, exclaiming with a mischievous snicker, “Everything AND the kitchen sink!” He was a character.
In the latter days of writing my novel Unbound when trying unsuccessfully to find a way to describe a story that was about so many things, I remembered Mori’s cellar and his sink. So I, in a moment of pique, threw in a scene where Will’s mom is washing dishes at their kitchen sink. And so began describing this indescribably deep, layered, and allegorical story simply as being “about everything.” Because, it is. About everything that a gypsy might come across or encounter in his travels; or a wanderer, a teller of tales, or even a Fool of the highest caliber…
With the lifeblood and essence ofthis Romantic’s Heart, this Poet’s Mind, and this Gypsy’s Soul pumping through my being, I would uproot myself at every opportunity as my fortunes and misfortunes changed. Once upon a time, when I was 17 or so and my father and I had had enough of our constant arguing and fighting ever since my decision to hang out on the Haight Street scene, and my oft-repeated vow that I’d move if I knew he wasn’t going to call the cops, he finally said, “Look, if you want to go that bad, fine; I won’t call them.” He then went off to shower.
In the twenty minutes that he was gone, I’d taken down my posters, packed up most of my stuff, called a nearby friend to pick me up, and I was gone, just like that. I was a runaway for about a month, living off the food I got from Mori’s. After a brief stay at a pair of cute strippers’ apartment off of Third Street I ended up sheltering at Georges’ place, which coincidentally was where Cathy and their family was renting from my grandmother, right down the street; in the same flat where I was born. After seeing the misery that my absence was causing my mother, I returned home, and we all made a truce of sorts; though my parents still disapproved of my lifestyle choice, they decided to trust in me, and I in them. This began the long road to our reconciliation, and also served to solidify my resolve to become (at that time) a Poet, and later, a Writer. Because they still supported me, in all my wild ways… and that is love.
And this is why Unbound is dedicated to their memory, with Love… for it’s not so much a love-story (though it is indeed just that), it’s a story about Love, in all its manifestations. Even a gypsy has a family, and more often than not, has a home… even though he’s oft absent from them. And always seeking, in one form or another, for one reason or another, that ever-elusive Love…
But I did move around a lot. Finally deciding to find a place wherein to concentrate solely upon the crafting of my manuscript, I moved for that purpose, for one last time. It was always for one last time, but it never was. Now, once again this gypsy is poised for escape, one step ahead of the sheriff’s men, who were to be evicting me in less than a month. But another reward for the investing of Faith (see posts below) has occurred; the property’s auction date has been postponed for another month, for God-knows-why. So now I’m two steps ahead, but still in need of that safe haven I’ve always sought, and have never found, from which to launch my writing Career. It will come; I have Faith that it will; that this Fool will find his way off the mountain, and not off its precipice into the Abyss…
I have Faith, I have Hope, and I have Love… these are all that I need except for a partner to share them with, and she will come to me, I am sure. All in due Time :-D
The title of this post is taken from the closing track from Arthur Brown’s Galactic Zoo Dossier album, of which the song “Sunrise” served as one of the spring-boards from which I jump-started this novel (see another post a ways below for it). Since “love” has always been the main thrust of the book, and Arthur a strong vocal proponent of it (listen to his “Love is a Spirit (That Will Never Die)” for proof of this), I’d always wanted this story to reflect and to strike deeply into the Reader with just as much force and feeling as this and other beloved artists delivered their own powerfully emotive works to their Listeners.  Thus, the story’s structure and delivery is very musical, lyrical, and deep beneath the surface of its words, emotionally powerful.
In closing, I’ll leave you with a video of Arthur singing “Helen With the Sun”, another of his songs that I included on Unbound’s “soundtrack”. This is raw emotion, power, and a startling vocal range delivered through the talents of not only his voice but also that of his co-writer and guitarist Andy Dalby (who’s one of my favorite guitarists). Boost the volume, too and feel it as deeply as you can. Don’t be distracted by anything else, either; just Listen! And as for that false fadeout, keep on listening; the ending is wonderful. He has a presentation that is unreal!
I’ve always preferred, with a few exceptions, classical literature over the modern. There was just something timeless about it that appealed to me, despite the sometimes archaic writing and forms of expression. Since the age of ten, as far as I can recall, I’d go to the library and bring home stories such as The Iliadand the Odyssey, The Arabian Nights, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, Lovecraft, Verne and Poe, and books on Greek mythology and the Norse and Roman gods. A Classics Illustrated edition of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein led me to get that book, and from its own pages discovered John Milton’s Paradise Lost, along with the works of Percy Shelley, most notably Prometheus Unbound (not to mention Alastor, or, the Spirit of Solitude).
So when the opportunity arose several years ago to take advantage of the Easton Press series of “The 100 Greatest Books Ever Written” I jumped at it, tempted by the offer of acquiring Herman Melville’s Moby Dick at an introductory price. Each randomly-sent volume is leather-bound and gilt-edged with pages in 22 kt gold, many with illustrations by the author’s original choice of artist. Absolutely beautiful volumes, and quite spendy. But I wanted to upgrade my poor beaten-up library with quality editions of the classics and so began the 100-month run. Of the volumes offered in the series, the two that I was most looking forward to were Milton’s and, of course, Frankenstein (my sixth edition LOL).
In May of last year I was preparing to assault the agent/publishing world with my first serious queries but was suffering (as usual) from uncertainty, mistrust, and fear of the industry. After reading so much about it I was definitely intimidated and completely put off by their attitudes and arrogance, and was praying for a signal or a sign to go ahead and get on with it, that the World was ready to receive my work despite the “business” and its obstacles. Like a wink, in that week I received the volume of Frankenstein from Easton. Just typing it like this doesn’t really deliver the anecdote with the significance I felt at the time, but it was a very nice little poke from the heavens, let’s say Since there are a hundred books in the series, and that was the twenty-fifth that I’d gotten, the odds were one-in-seventy-five that Frankenstein would arrive right when I needed it to come in that month, on that day. There’ve been SO MANY similar incidents along the road along the way that I couldn’t even begin to list them! I consider them as signposts lighting the path leading to Lily’s story finally reaching you, and me reaching the end of this journey and hopefully toward the beginning of a new one, namely a career in story-telling, as I feel has been my calling since age 11…
An aside: In my early teens I recall my father used to laugh and call me “Unconscious”, as that’s how I seemed to go though life; without really thinking about it. I would, actually, but rather than force my way through it lived rather intuitively; I thought laterally rather than just thinking ahead, like life was a chess game rather than checkers. It’s very hard to describe and I’ve no-one to compare it to or share it with who grasps it, so this attempt is probably wasted here as well. My friends would just say “you’re weird” LOL When significant events came up or lifestyle changes occurred I would try to roll with them as gracefully as I could; “you don’t push the river” as Van Morrison wisely advised. I swam in the middle of it; floating most of the time…
For instance, while the discovery of anime (right around when Frankenstein arrived) delayed my query-letter attempts, it did provide much inspiration and instruction in story-telling, and further justified and fortified my own sense of Unboundbeing a success because while there really is nothing like it in literature, anime showed me an incredible number of similarities that I could plainly see (and feel) working. It’s been inspiring, and the second-most significant discovery in my whole life, only behind the revelation, fortification, and inspiration of Kate Bush’s work. That’s a story for Another Day…
Now that the initial “awakening” to anime has subsided and I’m pretty caught up with it, the life-cycle is cycling once again around to resuming the dreaded and hated publishing push. While I know and feel without a doubt that the World wants and is ready to accept what I’ve created for it, I also feel that the publishing industry does not. Just as with the record industry, they’re interested in money, flash, and marketing ability, as opposed to quality, substance, and duty -the duty to connect Art-work with its intended Recipient. Unfortunately, this is considered “idealistic”, as it interferes with their money-concerns, which rules all in both worlds. And I imagine that because of this skewed perspective the Publishing INDUSTRY is going the way of the Record COMPANY; both seem to me to be sinking ships, plunging toward the bottom line that is indeed bottoming out, stubbornly tied to their anchors of Greed. So, I can’t say that I’ve been too enthused… and I’ve been working on other ways to get Lily’s story out to You
But: I’ve spent so much time and especially money over the past seven years that things are approaching crisis stage. The only luxuries I allow myself are assorted anime series, since I’ve missed so much of it and it fills so many needs. I’m having to cut out subscriptions of all kinds; for the past two months I’ve been meaning to cut out the Easton press books, as they’re about $45 a month that I now need. But, I really wanted the Milton book…
Last month I had planned on stopping the sub, but I forgot. So I pulled out their brochure and put it in the middle of the table so I wouldn’t forget that this was IT. I forgot anyway. Friday another book came and I cursed myself for not taking care of it, but, ever hopeful, opened it up thinking “Well, this is the last shot.” I carefully removed the book, and saw on the brown leather cover a pair of engraved golden hands emerging from water, palms upraised with rays connecting them to a sun high up in the clouds. My heart leapt -could it be? I turned the book over and there on the spine: Paradise Lost, by John Milton!
Whoa, dude! It even has the original illustrations by William Blake! Since this is the fortieth volume I’ve received in the series, that leaves a one-in-sixty chance of getting it at this precise time, just before cancelling (which I WILL have to do. Monday. For sure.)! Anyway, it’s crisis time, and I have to examine my hat carefully for rabbits to pull out. Getting a little scary, but I won’t bore you with details. You’ve already read enough, haven’t you?
Or have you? Heck, I can’t tell! I’ve got a book to read
Oh, and exactly WHY are Shelley, Milton, and Shelley so significant with regard to Lily’s story? Well, that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Maybe they’re not after all! I’ve told a little, but not a lot; there’s a tiny bit here, and a bigger bit there. But where I mustn’t say. You’ll find out, in due time, if fortune is with us, that is… so I pray. It’ll probably take a miracle, but I do believe in those…
Keep reading; it’s good for you
on the water
"When early youth had passed, he left his cold fireside and alienated home to seek strange truths in undiscovered lands. Many a wide waste and tangled wilderness has lured his fearless steps; and he has bought with his sweet voice and eyes, from savage men, his rest and food." (from 'Alastor, or, The Spirit of Solitude', by Percy Bysshe Shelley,1815)
For info on our novel UNBOUND, please see our website in the Blogroll!
 
