We must create art to survive, for how do you move on water if you don't paddle, when all you finally have is your art form, but who or rather what are you?
Surely, The artist must have his cat, molten resolve, and elephant hide. You have to be an artist, it is a cemented world, a crazy world out there for artists and you have to sell out, be really good on your own and afford your quaint
Life is expensive, I would have loved to be an artist near Walden pond eating free fish and writing for fun but I sometimes hear a bang on the wall it's my neighbors reminding me that my world have been made small. Surely my work would reflect that strangle, unaborted litter the vista I can't seem to clean my eyes off people.
There are no good food between rice, bread and noodles, are options are few still we calculate every spend. How the hell am I supposed to have some identity when my stool is the same color as the next guy.
I'd move to the village and mimick peasantry trying to dig anew at the well of my psyche but it would be typhoid season all over again, and pretty soon I'd be pointed out in sneers for joblessness and jaywalking.
I'm not concerned about persona, it Just all art like all cum eventually they get wiped on a shirt, music last a mite, but the artist eventually become the product and he is prostituted like a doll, or a burn victim.
There is so much humanity in the artist photo shoot, they are cries, every one which they could afford their cum and shoot it when they which, but it cost an arm to live.
Life is expensive, I would have loved to be an artist near Walden pond eating free fish and writing for fun but I sometimes hear a bang on the wall it's my neighbors reminding me that my world have been made small. Surely my work would reflect that strangle, unaborted litter the vista I can't seem to clean my eyes off people.
There are no good food between rice, bread and noodles, are options are few still we calculate every spend. How the hell am I supposed to have some identity when my stool is the same color as the next guy.
I'd move to the village and mimick peasantry trying to dig anew at the well of my psyche but it would be typhoid season all over again, and pretty soon I'd be pointed out in sneers for joblessness and jaywalking.
I'm not concerned about persona, it Just all art like all cum eventually they get wiped on a shirt, music last a mite, but the artist eventually become the product and he is prostituted like a doll, or a burn victim.
There is so much humanity in the artist photo shoot, they are cries, every one which they could afford their cum and shoot it when they which, but it cost an arm to live.
The sacrifice of creation and birth is too much for one to successfully have both, art is too much of a bargain, you wanted to paint your life with a little color but it's an absorbent, you ache for balance but sometimes you must lodge it like a wedge.
You can be an artist or have character you can't have both, character is art too, so you might fanciful through, since life is a stage. But the painstaking makes one too haggard to mind the look, No matter what you do, you would be shelved for the world is too big
Bit When you have only that work as an artist as your survival you really must evaluate the world you intend to brave for as you hawk, ask, Where are the trees, where could you find shade and eat off when you tire, If there are none, then you must wring out an identity which is spilling blood, you would be white, at least pale, and that pallor is your identity? Maybe you need to chill.
You can be an artist or have character you can't have both, character is art too, so you might fanciful through, since life is a stage. But the painstaking makes one too haggard to mind the look, No matter what you do, you would be shelved for the world is too big
Bit When you have only that work as an artist as your survival you really must evaluate the world you intend to brave for as you hawk, ask, Where are the trees, where could you find shade and eat off when you tire, If there are none, then you must wring out an identity which is spilling blood, you would be white, at least pale, and that pallor is your identity? Maybe you need to chill.
Where can one find identity in a zombie world of Idiocracy? I wish like Fat Albert I could enter Tarkovsky Nostalghia, you know a lull, deep sleep and church bells just so I can prepare dinner and go back to sleep.
Two cats and a black pen, coffee and a fireplace, but what we have is heat and half a craze for living pace
I have never struggled to spread my linen in the sun, I always wait patiently and hang it to dry somewhere if it catches your eye fine, I'm not too hung up on being so sure, more like eating and sleeping, sustainability is my watchword and an artist be a maybe, I'd identify as a farmer that write, take the plaque and hurry to a bowl than brave the cold for the goad of the lode
It soon becomes a whole lot of sewage, let it be spill I can afford as for Identity what another naked portrait? and you are similar, shit is similar.
Two cats and a black pen, coffee and a fireplace, but what we have is heat and half a craze for living pace
I have never struggled to spread my linen in the sun, I always wait patiently and hang it to dry somewhere if it catches your eye fine, I'm not too hung up on being so sure, more like eating and sleeping, sustainability is my watchword and an artist be a maybe, I'd identify as a farmer that write, take the plaque and hurry to a bowl than brave the cold for the goad of the lode
It soon becomes a whole lot of sewage, let it be spill I can afford as for Identity what another naked portrait? and you are similar, shit is similar.
When your flame flicker as it invariably would, it's been a good life, you drank from the wine of gods and must now return. try as you might someone would track your parapraxes and pattern your thoughts process so identity no, thank you art for indemnity? Hunh..
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