The Reason Why Andy Warhol Cut off Mozart's Ear

I have actually wanted to write this particular blog since I started this venture, but until recently other things have come up. Recently I have been moving my massive amount of things over to my new place, and playing a new "free" online crack known as Evony. I know, it is said but it actually leads me into a new segway into what I really want to talk about. I have often considered as to why creative people such as musicians and artists are so mentally deranged. From a constant stream of overdoses to cutting off one's own ear, creative genius often comes with a heavy price. For many of us, we look at these lives, often cut short with the madness within them, and feel sorry for them. If only they could have sought professional help, they might have still lived.
Well, I am here to say that all that professional help would have done is kill the genius inside. What extremely unpolitically correct thought forced this blasphemy to the surface? Since I defecate on political correctness in principle, and psychology in general, I am going to practice a little of it on my own. The reason why professional help could not save them is because it is that very madness that drives their genius. It is far more than just anecdotal. For each shining light of greatness, there exists an equally deep inky blackness in the same person. For example, I will mention for the first and last time Michael Jackson. One of the most talented persons ever seen in his chosen creative field, this height was matched by what one can only call extreme depravity or just plain weirdness.
Look back at each great creative mind in history. Each was deeply troubled, and those who weren't either hid it very well or weren't that great. Hemingway was a drunk, Van Gough cut off his ear, Jimmy Hendrix killed himself with drugs, as did Chris Farley. Farley is an interesting one. A comedic genius, Farley personified the funny fat guy. Did you ever wonder why most of the large men that you know are also funny? I include myself in this category. It is the same reason why clowns are really sad. If we make everyone laugh, then they will never notice how much we hurt on the inside.
Creativity comes from pain. A truly content person creates nothing, as there is no need. The more deep the pain or madness, the higher the corresponding greatness will be. It is why the best songs have a touch of sadness to them, why you can feel the longing of priceless poetry, and why the masterpieces in the Louvre often make those cry. Even positive emotions must be overwhelming in order for creation to occur.
Just like the autistic, the truly creative are over stimulated, but instead of them withdrawing into themselves fully, they put it into an outlet. Mountains of emotion flow their their brushes and typewriters, so they can live just one more day. Such people unfortunately sometimes have a short lifespan, as they cannot control or handle the overflow of emotional pain. Often the seek to cover up the mountain with drugs, or surrender to it with suicide.
Why do I say all of this? I say it because I think that I figured it all out, and did not want to forget. I see in myself the impetus for creative genius, and sometimes it scares me. Almost everyone who actually knows me would never suspect, as most people are totally fooled by the funny fat guy act. I am subdued, and rarely raise my voice. I never talk about my feelings, especially to those who I actually care about. My entire life is a facade, and I have become very good at maintaining it.
I know that if I try to fix all of this, my drive to create will cease. Normal people don't create things. At the moment it is small, as it consists of this blog, but I have many stories that need to be told. If I am ever corrected, and deal with the ocean of feeling in a "normal" and "healthy" way, it will all disappear. It is not to say that the other road is easy. There are many times that my inability to function like a "healthy" person has literally frozen me into inaction. I have deadened my insides just to survive. Recently there has been a little life, but for the longest time there were simply emotions that I would not let myself feel, or at least outwardly show them.
Why I wanted to write this blog is this: even with all of these bad things, there is the goodness as well. First, my insight has been returning to me. I have been told multiple times recently that prior advice that I had given was in fact quite good. This is quite extraordinary for someone who tells themselves on a daily basis that they don't know anything, not to mention in chorus with those who equal those sentiments. Being who I am I also have a large ego (don't ask me to explain this, because I can't, at least not yet), hearing from others that I knew what I was talking about is just the right kind of validation that I need and want. Secondly, when I have taken the opportunities to create something, everyone has indeed marveled in it. This goes back to the ego again. Finally, slowly but surely the mantra that I had been repeating for almost fifteen years is starting to come true. Everything happens for a reason, and people eventually get what they deserve. No matter how bad things have got in the past, things will be made good if I only wait long enough.
While you might discount this as a fairy tale, there is quite a bit of validation in it. Go back to my original point. Creative people have to have an equal amount of pain/discomfort/madness in order to be creative. It is the reason why the popular guy in high school works at the gas station while the geek marries the county fair queen. Our lives are about balance, and goodness in one thing is balanced out in another. The same applies to badness. The interesting thing about it is that we either forget about the badness or the goodness, and don't realize just when we are getting "paid back".
That is why you can't fix life, especially the messed up lives of those geniuses in our world. It is why Andy Warhol cut off Mozart's ear. Then he painted a picture of it. With a can of Campbell's soup. And now it hangs in Kevin Johnson's garage in Biloxi, next to some oil cans. Maybe I made up that last part.