The End of The Story:
🧙🏻‍♂️ 2016 was the beginning of my life as a recluse, after my last time on stage at the end of 2015.
I've been to a handful of music shows since then, made a few brief returns to Facebook which
I regretted, and in 2018 I retired from my job.

Over the years I was successful enough in my career to retire at 60.
But I never had any real success at being a musician or a poet,
the two things I had always dreamed of being.
Like Sylvia Plath, I've accumulated a lot of rejection slips.
Thus, "Dreams die. Life goes on. Accept things as they are." became my motto.

2020 appears to be the end for me as a poet. (I gave up on being a musician around 2013.)
It seems pointless to continue writing considering that I have no audience.
(My last uncensored poem, "Concupiscence", was inspired by a book I was reading.)
But, I've continued to add commentary to my review sections in the hope that one day
I might be understood. (P.S. I wrote a few more poems in 2021. See the list above.
I don't believe 2022 will be added to that list. I'm pretty sure I'm finished now.)

In April 2022 I decided to stop updating my AuthorsDen site and my various other websites.
No one was interested in them so it seemed pointless to continue.
At that time I wrote my very last poem, entitled “Swan Song”. It is posted below.
Later in 2022 I created AuthorsDen pages for my last two poems that were worth posting:
"Swan Song" and "Thanksgiving at Barley Street". Links to these poems are in the list above.
Since these would be the last things I'd ever write, I made a concerted effort to make people
aware of their existence. But, as I'd expected, I didn't find much interest.

I returned to Facebook briefly in 2023. It was a big mistake and I hope I'll never repeat it.
I was mostly ignored, as usual. Now I'm back in full hermit mode (I don't think I'll be
going to any more music shows) and I'm struggling to achieve apatheia again.
P.S. I have achieved apatheia/apathy again, but it has required almost total isolation.
I avoid contact with people so their disapproval and dismissal can't hurt me.


"Frank... Is that why you stopped writing? Because they told you you weren't any good?"
(from "Eddie And The Cruisers")

"That sacred impulse, that nourishes poet's hearts, that used to be mine, has all vanished.
My Muse barely plays her part, when I've taken up my tablets, she barely lays a hand there,
almost has to be forced.
I've little or no pleasure, to speak of, in writing, no joy in weaving words into metre,
whether it's the fact I've reaped no profit from it, that makes this thing the source of my misfortunes,
or that writing a poem you can't read to anyone is exactly like making gestures in the dark."
Ovid (Epistulae ex Ponto, Book IV)

“Sometimes I think we could have gone on. All of us. Trying. Forever.
But they didn't fill the desert with pyramids. They just built some. Some.
They're not still out there, building them now. Everyone, everywhere, gets up, and goes home.
Yet we must not Diabolize time. Right? We must not curse the passage of time.”
Jennifer Michael Hecht (On the Strength of All Conviction and the Stamina of Love)

Τέλος
Es ist was es ist.



Swan Song (The Last of the Poet Recluse)

So many words I have wasted over the years.
So many vain attempts to uncover the truth.
So many clever clues, clandestine revelations.
How many misunderstood intentions
and apparently contrary positions,
the result of misguided misdirection?
But then, when finally I comprehended
what all of it was about:
It no longer mattered that no one was listening,
that no one understood, no one had cared.
Because, I realized: It was too private to share.
No one else could possibly understand
even if I wanted them to.
Did I really expect them to?

Vita pergit. (Life goes on.)
Accipio res ut sunt. (I accept things as they are.)
The Solitary Man must walk alone.
Alone, but not completely alone. Not entirely.
For I have Love, that one dream that matters.
The only dream that matters to me.
More important than pleasure.
(Despite desire’s insistence.)
As essential as intimacy.
Almost as crucial as Truth.
I shall spend my life with the one I love
and care little for anything else.

Mark Sebring (Τελικό, 2022)

I know. It's not much like Bukowski or Emily Dickinson.
It's just more grandiose esotericism, as our hero attempts one more final retreat
by increasing again his voluntary isolation and his dedication to Stoic resignation.
And, while echoing the sentiments of Mr. Lennon (All You Need Is Love)
his panacea apatheia inevitably evolves into apathy.
I can be awfully hard on myself sometimes.
Oh well, I suppose I should be going.
The Solitary Man... You know how it goes. 🚶🏻‍♂️

Notice how in the middle of this rather critical soliloquy
he begins to refer to himself in the third person.
Then suddenly he reverts back to conversational first person.
Oops! I’m doing it again.🤡
Seriously though, this is just more "happily ever after" bullshit.
If you want the truth, you'll have to look elsewhere.
Can you handle the truth?

🧙🏻‍♂️ THIS IS THE TRUTH:
EVEN AFTER YOU'VE FOUND THE ANSWER, THE STRUGGLE CONTINUES.
(There is always a beggar on a wooden crutch, and a pretty woman in a darkened door.)

"Only this and nothing more." 🦢
Edgar Allan Poe


La Vie Sans Rêves ⛅

God is a concept that gives people hope
when hope is more important than truth.
I repeat: God is a placebo.

I don't believe in America.
I don't believe in apathy.
I don't believe in religion.
I don't believe in conformity.
I don't believe in politics.
I don't believe in philosophy.
I don't believe in music.
I don't believe in poetry.
I don't believe in friendship.
I don't believe in family.
I just believe in me.
The one I love and me.
That's reality.
The dream is over.

Mark Sebring (With a little help from "God", 2023)

La Vie Sans Rêves (Life Without Dreams)
This is sort of a sequel to "Swan Song", and my "Sans Rêves" music video.
I once wrote a longer version of McCartney's "Eleanor Rigby" (Elmer Wigby, 2007).
Now I've written a shorter version of John Lennon's "God".
I replaced Lennon's definition of God with my own
but that was an afterthought, to make it obvious
that what I'd written was patterned after "God".
I actually wrote the second half of the poem first
(beginning with "music" and "poetry") to reiterate
the message of "Sans Rêves" and "Swan Song".

The two sides of me are becoming more violently opposed! 💥
🧙‍♂️Roger keeps killing 🤡Bozo, but he won't stay dead.
🤡Bozo is still alive (but 🧙‍♂️Roger is in control).
Both Roger and Bozo have written sequels for "Swan Song"🦢
Roger's is an affirmation.👍 Bozo's, a rebuttal.👎
Both contain lyrics sung by someone named John.

🦢THE END IS NEAR! (🦋 The End is Here.💀)
▶ Have you checked out my YouTube Community lately?
🤡 There are lots of strange things going on over there.❔
Like here, the really interesting stuff is in my comments.
(And the comments in my videos as well.📺) 🦢

▶ If you are looking for my YouTube Community,
YouTube has renamed their "Community" tab to "Posts".
The end of my story is there. (Roger won.)


Η επιδίωξη της απάθεια:
Accipere res ut sunt. 🧙‍♂️
L'amour est le seul rêve qui compte.
(Read the conclusion of my commentary for "Who I Am".)

I don't understand why you would "discard" any of your writings, and much they are earlier versions of a well revised piece. One never knows, but something you may feel is a sow's ear of yours, might turn out to be a silk purse when viewed by your readers.

I have not deleted or discarded anything that I've written, even some that I've never posted online. One never knows when one of those nearly forgotten pieces becomes very important.

Ron