This psycho moment numero uno
I want to hear from tortured artists and musicians. Those of you inserting curses as you read this post. Those whose humor is incapable of laughing at much except your own sad joke on the world.
Oh the original vision, your very own, given wings by talented hands! Has it, with youth, fled?
Remember inspiration and remember bartering it for praise and flattery. How the balloon jerked from your hand on a warm gust and rose above the rooftops.
Have you been drinking?
When you drink, do you turn lewd? Your Simultaneous Super Vision can’t help but notice the enticing qualities of those around you? Are you then at your most charming?
Making your charm your art. Productive commitment to cohesive visionary tasks takes flight. Thus we find that we did not fashion those wings ourselves with our talented hands. So easy to forget that art is not a vision but the crafting of a vision.
Scraps of rubber balloon litter the floor in rooms full of bad temper, as your Supercilious Super Discernment remains hard to please.
Are you feeling like a tortured artist? I want to hear from you.
