bad advice to aspiring artists

sometimes the flame
pardons the soul
as soft minds reach for
something bigger
something real
in an unreal world
sitting at this desk
on my third glass of wine
and my black and white
eternal kitten
i feel that i’m almost ready
to become human again

looking out my window
i see that’s it’s rained
i love the rain
and the way
it washes away
the ordinary madness
of everyday living
have you ever danced
under the rain
in nothing but your underwear?
if not you should
it’s very cleansing, liberating

it’s funny how we (writers, that infernal lot)
reach for it
that one
perfect moment
of honest creation
only to be driven
in the opposite direction
but every once and awhile
the moment closes in
and we are able to
capture it
with stunning
and immortal clarity

the distractions
the admirers and the critics
they will corrupt you

lines no longer sunny
omit foreplay on safe playgrounds
in favor of
dangerous conversations
with pirate apparitions
push it hard
and shatter these flooded egos
as truth memes
copulate in complicated patterns
that fuck the gods sideways

i love music
but the written word
is still more powerful to me
than the greatest symphony
there is power
in this abstract interpretation
it dispels a lazy life
and arouses the spirit
towards new and separated levels
of common megalomania

drunk fires fog this
crystal monopoly
as backdoor bums seek petite kisses
and tales from a thousand strangers
greet you with polite destruction

pick the locks
of your economic shackles
and never leave the prospect
of beautiful death
and lying on a couch
of faded animation



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