Chagall
"What are you going to do?" asks a concerned relation or friend of relation.
"I'm going to write." I reply.
"But what are you going to do?" the asshole inquires.
I woke up early and watched Girl, Interrupted. I loved the book (by Susanna Kaysen.) The movie was good also, I especially enjoyed Winona Ryder. Anyways, Susanna is asked the same inane question about her career.
"I'm going to write."
"But what are you going to do?"
Apparently this conspiracy against the arts has been going on for a long time.
Are people really so attached to their jobs slaughtering cows and skinning carcasses?
Are people really so proud of filing paperwork for hours on end, while their brains are liquefying inside their skulls?
I don't know.
But it seems like no one has believed in me.
I don't even believe in me.
Art, literature, fantasy...the best reasons I can find to keep on breathing. Without music and art we would be just like the animals.
Breed, breathe, eat, sleep, kill each other for our resources.
The very best attributes of mankind are found outside that. In art.
But "smart" people don't pursue art as a career. They'd rather work the nine to five and invest their money in good stocks. They'd rather have security than freedom. They'd rather take a giant shit on my face than dream something of their own.
Maybe I'll die poor, but at least I tried.
