On Wound Licking and other passions

OK. So I've had time to lick my wounds and think things over. I haven't touched any research since my last post and even had a rough time writing a couple of articles for the usual gig. I've been on the outs with my talent and curiosity and verbal skills.

This is where binge drinking and heavy drugs have helped other creative types in the past, but I loathe vomiting and am not a member of the street drug community, so I'm pretty much stuck with overeating and whining. Both of which are unattractive, but only one of which leads to permanent after effects... And to fill up the empty hours I've been shooting a couple of photo essays for my own amusement.

But I digress...

Suddenly last night...

I had had, perhaps, more champagne and Guiness than I was used to at a local hot spot and stopped at the island's true heart- the public library- on the way home. There were two interlibrary loans just in that I'd even forgotten I'd ordered. Both on the French revolution. Both with references to the heads of the Kings of Judah. A stirring commenced in my loins...

This AM, after intense consideration, I have decided to enthusiastically begin the French Revolution chapter again. Here's why.

I want to learn the stories of these iconoclasms because they're the rage of history. The passion of the people who are touched by history. The cynicism of their leaders writ large. They are, not to put to fine a point on it, concrete (or bronze or marble) evidence of human fire.

The key word here is "learn". I'm kicking literary butt and taking names. Dates. And telephone numbers. Tell me the truth! Why did you bump off the herms? The Buddhas? King George III? Saddam Hussein in Paradise Square?

Screw what happens after this. Inquiring minds want to know. I am no longer writing for the masses who may or may not exist outside of my family circle. I'm now writing for myself, and the fallout may not be pretty. But it will be full of my own craving and lust.

Stay tuned....