it is the privilege of the gift as i think it.
the privilege of passion not more than that so it is not really boastful and i feel much less guilty to say it.
i have been at severe odds with my creativity of late.
it is tumbling out at rapid speed and i am thrilled.
I am disgusted.
i am in that artist’s bog of
where what’s the point? is so pointed it punctuates.
minutes, even seconds,
but there the bastard is again and again.
it has to do with money of all things.
i have a love/hate approach/avoid
spiritual orientation toward money.
my self-worth is tangled up in it.
i am a prisoner of the illusion.
in this bog art isn’t selling well.
in this bog the artist loses something and has to wait until it passes.
it always passes, but, for the record, this bog is bad.
i don’t like it.
i wish someone had posted it more clearly.
i still would have come over here,
but i’m looking for an airstrip to blame.