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Prose of a Con

Poetry and Prose by Russell Wardlow

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Russell Wardlow

Why Thou Art?

April 23, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Our society is so hyper vigilant and all about instant gratification, the need of immediate results and tangibility so art can seem useless. What can you do but marvel at it. But art as it is, is quite powerful, it incites creation, healing, wonder and more. It makes the deepest accesses of the mind known then manifest. It helps purge, being a supreme act of expression and therefore ventilation for the repressed minds we often inhabit. It is a sense of self, largely lost in our world with so much conformity and tribalism

Oscar Wilde’s, “Dorian Grey” preface of the book spoke of Art’s uselessness and an artist liking too much what he made as if self deprecation is the only rational response to your own creation.

Why is it taboo to give yourself superlatives that suggest greatness, patting your own back, why most others validate us before we ourselves?

We’ll spend lifetimes seeking others acceptance because we aren’t taught to stoke our own egos, as if humility is only in self deprecation

This hits home because Art empowers, it empowered me! Of course I didn’t even know this til recently, spending so much time downplaying what art means to me, softly acknowledging what I’ve been able to do and who I’ve been able to become because of it. Though I can’t dare call myself powerful or great or say that I am a good or great writer because how would that look to others, I myself even cringe at times at the implication imposed upon me or declared by myself. I mean beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that jazz, but different strokes and to each their own, because everyone won’t feel my art. It doesn’t dismiss its greatness, even if self proclaimed, it wasn’t created for approval, but as an expression of me. Why would I assume my art can achieve what I haven’t, acceptance? A structural writer wouldn’t marvel at my writing because its everywhere-no form, decorated in loose free flowing flaws. My writing is all over the place, but so is life, so am I. It expresses me, not structure because I am not formality nor structure. I am random and rambunctious. We love to give the appearance of being neat clean put together and highly functioning, but that’s not our truth, it’s pretend at best, a public mask, it reminds me of how much work and pain women endured just to wear a tightly tied corset back in the day. My life isn’t tied tight, holding it breath as to not be seen as something less, not even close. My writing depicts my internal conflicts and attempts at resolution, which gives me a messy sort of harmony, warring for balance while several different themes of complimentary forces, which I once viewed as opposing, fighting each other for dominion. As they wrestle at impasse, I find myself even keel in the midst of chaos one step too far to the left, or conformed organization too far to the right, so I walk boldly between in the grey where I believe truth self and real life not only exists but thrives! Because art isn’t useless, it uses life, it demands attention, for you to stop, reflect, express, then re-imagine beyond the borders of that which you’ve just witnessed

Filed Under: Culture, Spirit

Harmony

April 18, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Harmony
harmony
it’s hard to be
it’s hard to breathe
life hardens me
internal arson is harming me
ardently, disarming me
I have no more arm to reach-
for harmony
please harmony
be my armory
garner ardor in my arteries
my heart seeks harmony
my heart speaks harmony
my heart beats harmony-artfully
august breeze
august breeze
all these trees
fall til spring
what does all this mean?
who am I between
these two extremes
the cost of loss and harmony
well I’m extreme
because I feel more lost without harmony

Filed Under: Mercy, Trauma

Our Nature

April 18, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I cared for the ground she walked on
I cared for the water he drank from
I cared for the trees the little ones climbed
and I cared for the air that we all breathe
it’s all connected
we’re all connected
though fear may keep us separated
our nature,
our true nature
is within nature
not without
and love,
keeps us all connected as one
because there can’t be one,
without the other
to destroy nature
is to destroy our own nature
therefore destroying ourselves

Filed Under: Culture, Love, Mercy, Spirit

Days of Daze

April 17, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Power over principle
yet the principle,
is power
educating less
indoctrinating more
philosophy is challenged
why ask questions when answers are given
accept what is
or leave
informed less
uniformed more
in this land of the free
conditions of imprisoned minds
best not to disturb those still sleeping
close your eyes while you’re at it
its too early…
or too late
depending your vantage
insomnia is a ‘bad’ thing
prescriptions will fix you
why stay woke,
when sleep feels so good
relax, you’re safe
sleep your life away,
we’ll take care of you
life is but a dream

Filed Under: Culture, Inside

Intolerance Tolerated

April 16, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

Tyrannized by emotions-
of others,
and my own
tribalism-
they terrorize and tear at each other
tears tread
teachings tampered with
trauma tempered tentatively
tame the threat of time with temptation
ooh, the taste of totalitarianism
the treachery of love-
is its temporariness
thoughtfully, we only tolerate our tryst with fear
tantalized by its tense and timid nature
touched
by its distance and indifference
and if someone
or something else
shall get too close…
intolerable

Filed Under: Trauma

“when life imprisons you… feel free”

April 5, 2020 by Russell Wardlow Leave a Comment

I can never be a kid again
if you keep being so serious-
and we can never kid again

I can never be grown enough
if you keep telling me-
I’m just not old enough

You know the feeling when you’re kinda driving around and don’t know exactly where you’re going, like you have an idea and maybe even some directions but for what’s in front of you none of it makes sense, and you’re so tense- frustrated and anxious, but then a new calm comes cascading over you like shade from ocean, like clouds on the move, and you start to feel good, rested and peaceful from the extra time in the car, lost in your own way, enjoying the space and scenery, almost defiant to the demands of time and the constraints of endless ‘must do’s’ all around you.

And then even that brief respite in reflective paradise ends, and it’s back to life where all these directions just don’t apply to your journey, yet still you make sense of them if only to fit in and at least know there’s something you’re doing right.

But what of a kid, a kid being constantly stuffed by the baggage missteps and pains of the adults around him. Teaching him to repress repress repress, conform, don’t, not, no, stop

anything but feel, seek, and discover, finding yourself without fear of punishment inflicted upon him because their fears and haunted memories of not getting it right and feeling empty, weighing so heavy on him that he soon grows with the weight of both adulthood demands and childhood curiosities conflicting without enough understanding love and ability to navigate even just one of them all on its own.

So he grows in that car, following directions he can’t read, concocting peace down certain avenues that may only serve to hurt him more down the road giving him lessons of punishment- replacing time and love, which hardens his heart to love, straining his capacity to take in any semblance of peace, all the while still cruising on without knowing his own identity, because he has been every bit of denial and force imposed upon him, that he has yet to learn how to live and not fear mistakes, so he overcompensates at the wheel, tense in his direction, veering into crash after crash, all avoidable but now he believes that this is the experience of life, crash til u make it, and maybe after enough accidents you’ll finally find your way.

I titled this “when life imprisons you…feel free” because ultimately we start life without any control. We’re simply a learning robot, absorbing all things around us, being prodded by every kind of authority figure, never able to leave that robotic identity, instead of growing a conscience for ourselves, we grow up and learn to navigate life as robots, living without free thought, without self autonomy.

But the ‘feel free’ part speaks to the decision to feel something else but trapped and imprisoned, to tell your mind to experience something different than what you’ve told it time and time again, daring to feel emboldened to become more than assigned or expected. It’s up to us to decide how we feel, that’s something that can’t be controlled. We can decide, regardless if we want to do something or not, if it feels good, experience it.

Feeling is searching for freedom, it’s becoming intimate with your experience, it provides purpose to emotions.

Feeling is the freedom we have constantly in endless supply once we become properly aware of it, so many of other peoples feelings get enforced upon us that we can’t even recognize our own from the many, so we digress and stuff our true nature deep down and never bother to uncover it again because digging deep takes more work than stuffing, stuffing is now second nature to most of us.

But when the levy breaks, what’s deep down which has been laden and bottled up, will want to get out. So how do you give it proper air to breath before it comes out in a burst uncensored and uncontrolled, distorted from what it once was after being compromised by repression for the sake of others?

So often, we apologize for who we are, for who we’re trying to become, and for who we’re still trying to discover within ourselves because shouldering someone else’s weight is more easier than our own, we find comfort in our discomfort by making others more comfortable. We haven’t been brought up to love and explore ourselves freely, fiercely and fearlessly, and use that love found of self to love others, and not at the cost of our selves.

Because we know not all directions are created equal. Each of us has their own path specific to them, and we do more for humanity by allowing everyone to find it their own way rather than coercing their journey.

Simply put, feeling free happens in stages or cycles like all things, and it starts at allowing our kids to feel themselves and encourage them along their paths and embolden them with every turn, not jump in taking control, taking them our own route.

A child has to learn how to be an adult, and an adult shouldn’t have forgotten how it was to be a kid, with those lessons maturing them. Because a kid is free, exploring, loving, learning, falling and rising. It’s the adults that snatch that childhood away and feed them distorted views of life and reality that only serve to imprison them. So to ‘feel free,’ we have to stop imprisoning ourselves and unlock the prisons we place upon our kids.

And just drive with the windows down. And get where you’re going when you get there. No shortcuts. Just enjoy the ride and find yourself in the journey.

Embrace the difficulties. They make the ride worthwhile. Without them, you couldn’t tell what was good if nothing was bad. The bad points you to the good, so it all works out in the end, because you can’t truly know one without the other.

So ‘feel free’ and let the kids live a little, and find then, reclaim your inner child by watching them, because when life imprisons us all, the only ones that didn’t get the message are our kids, unless we don’t allow them to do what we don’t do, which is, ‘feel free.

Filed Under: Culture, Inside, Love, Mercy

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Prose of a Con

Prose of a Con is a collection of Russell Wardlow’s prose and poetry written entirely behind bars. Through writings on family, spirituality, freedom, love, justice, redemption, and vulnerability, Russell seeks to show the humanity and hope of individuals like himself who are incarcerated.

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  • Whose Mind is it Anyway June 30, 2022
  • Objects June 30, 2022
  • Same Thang, Different Name June 30, 2022
  • Optical Ill-lusions June 30, 2022
  • Hollow Symbols June 30, 2022

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