Ideas flit in
and out
of my mind
like a monster’s tongue.
I need more sticky
to catch the fly.
It’s easy to forget
a good idea.
They’re buzzing around my head
in the October Season
I don’t want to die
(I sound like Wilber, from Charlotte’s Web)
Theories
can be something to live by
but if they don’t work
they will die in you.
The writer says
he needs experiences
to have inspiration, but he could spend a whole weekend living
and not have anything to write down.
The absence of life, doesn’t mean the writer can’t write.
He usually writes about death, or death in life.
The need for travel, for war, for pain
is only an excuse
not to write
because
when you come back
you will find
the words don’t dance any better than before.
People are too careful
They don’t have madness
They are slowly disappointed,
even when they slowly succeed.
The fast lane
is for the few dreamers
who don’t want to inch along the freeway
like worms.
The lives people live
are desperate
in their happiness
and unhappiness.
Watching people die
becomes boring.
They weren’t special in life
and death didn’t make a difference.
A man knows when he is special
when nobody is around
and there is only the sound of his genius
a light-switch flipped-on by God
and even though he gets tired
he doesn’t want to turn-out that light
because it’s easy to break things
or to shut them down.
It’s hard to work for hours
with joy and hope and belief in what you are doing—
That is the artist’s dream
and it is so much bigger than anything, anybody can give you.
Life is temporary
like music that stops
our feet that no longer dance.
Is art meaningless, if it’s destroyed
like a sandcastle, when the tides come in?
Maybe, art is a measure of how you are living…
So, unleash the dog that bites
and train him to sit for hours
writing.
Unmask
the real man
and teach him
to live with his ugliness.
Unhinge
the careful mind
and give it a lever to lift the world
with words.
For me art is a place for me to find meaning and understanding in the world around me. It is the way I process emotions. I don’t think it is a measure of how I am living, but maybe it is? Ok. I am at work. I can’t just be on here all day catching up with people’s blogs.
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Art is an expression of the soul. I know when my soul is in danger. Usually, it comes out when I’m writing.
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