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the funny part of growing up, is that you are given free reign to have a piece of the nostalgia of your past. forever gone is the time you spent mashing leaves with rocks in the sandbox to concoct secret mystically magical potions to cure whatever the hell you thought it would do.
maybe that was jsut me and my childhood friend brian; it was really special, i think. that or we wasted our formative days of social development. but we were magic at the time, and that's what was important. we didn't give a shit!
mm, i guess it's all in the timing of it. i'm not the master of time, but if i had the opportunity, i'd kick old man time in the fucking thigh, for messing with me, raggity bastard. get a new robe old man! jeebus!
(ironically, time passes)
i'm asking, at that young age, is your tender pink wrinkle-free brain ready to accept that you are going to die? i came to this realization fairly early on, and i don't see why i can't live the rest of my natural life kicking mad ass. right?
so you're in your early twenties, or mid-to-late twenties, or mid thirties; when is the right time to do the things that yo uwant to do? you want to travel the world, get on the cash tip and book a flight.
you want to be an artist? sorry, there's no class that you could take that could really give you magic powers. if the fairy dust didn't come out of your ass when you crap, it's going to be a difficult time of self-discovery ahead. sorry. it's just the way it goes.
but then again, maybe i'm not ready to accept that i'm not the greatest artist in the known universe; my creations and imaginings inspiring everyone within inches of me, and extending well and beyond the vast boundries of uncharted intergalactic space and time.
it's sad, really. the point i guess being that who really gives a shit what critics and buyers think (sub note: please buy some of my work, so i can eat tomorrow)? i sure don't...
i have no clue what i'm doing, but i'm happy. is that okay? so, the sub-sub-sub point to the rant, is that it doesn't mater at all. all of this is going to make it or not. all of this work and time and sweat and persistance is all for naught, if you don't enjoy it. you gotta be loving whatever it is you're doing, working on, loving, raving about, creationing, eating, feeling, interacting with, and on and on into the infinate of it all, or else you're missing the point.
and who even is this speech for, if not for myself even? i love how at moments when you feel most high-and-mighty, you tend to realize that you're completely exposed and your pants are hanging around your ankles; the wind passing through your legs with a bright and vibrant velocity.
go get em people, and tell them that bay said it was okay to do what you're doing. if they don't understand, don't be too hard on them. soon enough we'll all be "in the know," or blissfully not.
tonight's homework:
make the time to stare into someone's eyes for more than the normal millinanosecond you do in your daily facial glipses. try to go for 5 seconds if at all possible. you'll find that you can learn a lot about someone by losing yourself in their eyes. it's either that of staring at a cat, and i'm pseudo-allergic.
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