A Portrait Of The Young Man As An Artist

I call myself an artist.

What has art done for me lately?

A title's just that: a title; words, just words.

Do. Don't define.

Definitions come from those who can't.

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A Meditative Query (III)

You find yourself to be hollow, empty, devoid of substance.  Do you impute this to your intake or your output?

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A Meditative Query (II)

You find yourself surrounded by people who do not take you seriously.  Do you look for validation within yourself, seek out like-minded fellows to buoy you and your ego, or forge on defying the indifference of all others?

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A Meditative Query

You find yourself becoming things you once hated.  Do you return to your old self, stay static, or look forward to who you will become because of it?

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Maybe Care

It doesn't mean anything unless you want it to.

A Case Of Life Imitating Physics

It was a time of coasting.  No progress was made, no moves--at least none in the near future.  It was trying. 

We lived, together.  Finished out old commitments.  Tried to build some credit.  Before another move could be made.  But times like these weren't so bad when they came in cycles.  Having something to look forward to--no matter how distant it may seem at the time--is never a bad thing.

And when the next move was made, we could settle again, into a new routine to coast on for a while, swooping over the hill in wide S-curves back and forth building momentum each turn begetting the next one until finally we can slow ourselves, allow ourselves to coast a little longer, in wider swoops, down to the bottom of the hill where we'll stop ...eventually.

It was not actually a time of coasting, though we wished it was.  There was still a long way to go.  Commitments to finish out.  Credit to build.  Living to do, together.  Our minds skipped ahead because the pain of trudging up the incline, working, harder than in the beginning, could be too much; we had to imagine the reward.  The peak.  Where it all pays off. 

The coasting will come.  Now's the time to climb.

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Friends: They're what's for dinner.

2:00AM.

There's no greater pleasure than watching a polaroid slideshow of fantastic memories because it reminds me of the people that make me who I am now. I'm lucky, duh.