AMKent books

Charles Valentin Alkan, considered to have some of the most technically demanding piano compositions in existence, died in relative obscurity. Despite Liszt and Chopin championing him, he did not Receive (or look) for fame or recognition. This is often the case with genius creators, their recognition comes too late for them to know that they had been seen. Kafka is another classic example, almost ashamed of his work despite its literary Poignancy. Although I am no genius, or Alkan/Kafka, I find myself yearning to be seen. I am an indie author, most of my works have fallen fairly flat bar Void Around Sunlight, but that was no best seller either. It is Narcissistic to crave recognition, or it certainly feels it. Maybe a product of postmodernity, hyper-individuality. As a human, I at times feel overwhelmed with my own existence, and my outlet is to extrapolate them into words, or sometimes piano compositions.

Throwing valuable objects at a wall, a Minimalist barrier that cares not the value it smashes. This is how it feels, oh, what a pity party I am throwing! I see the alure of religion, to believe the Architect of all creation not only sees you, but loves you. New age fluff has a similar draw, the laws of attraction, I am so important I can think myself into twisting the arm of the universe to give me my desires. It fails to sound so coherent when you think that a starving child probably wants food more than you want money. To be human is a bittersweet Endeavour, like a cyanide capsule that tastes of icing.