I am not great, and that’s okay. I wanted to be. I would think most people want to be. I so hoped that I would end up as some sort of prodigal negro, here to save the world, but especially negro-kind, through the power of art. Art doesn’t save shit though. Especially not anymore, if it ever did. And I am certainly not the one to do it. Art is the worst it’s ever been right now and the people love it more than ever. I am old enough now to not get uptight about it THAT much—it’s not like it actually matters anyways. I am trying to make the most of my current reality. I write stuff and I hope it’s being read, but I have no real certainty that they are. I apply to different classes, programs, grants, and jobs and mostly fall flat; perhaps because no one “gets” me, or they find my stuff off-kilter—or maybe I just suck and can’t realize it. Who knows, but like an idiot, I push through… primarily because, what the fuck else is there to do?
Radical.
Radical.
Radical.
I am not great, and that’s okay. I wanted to be. I would think most people want to be. I so hoped that I would end up as some sort of prodigal negro, here to save the world, but especially negro-kind, through the power of art. Art doesn’t save shit though. Especially not anymore, if it ever did. And I am certainly not the one to do it. Art is the worst it’s ever been right now and the people love it more than ever. I am old enough now to not get uptight about it THAT much—it’s not like it actually matters anyways. I am trying to make the most of my current reality. I write stuff and I hope it’s being read, but I have no real certainty that they are. I apply to different classes, programs, grants, and jobs and mostly fall flat; perhaps because no one “gets” me, or they find my stuff off-kilter—or maybe I just suck and can’t realize it. Who knows, but like an idiot, I push through… primarily because, what the fuck else is there to do?