April 25, 2011
How long can one pursue one’s dreams until the pursuit is gone? It seems as though full time work kills more righteous artists than all the repressive regimes around the world combined. I guess it becomes impossible to resist at some point. I suppose it becomes pretty difficult to continue to wait tables, or substitute teach, or tend bar, or baby sit year after while trying to make it as an artist.
After all everyone has a limit. Everyone has a threshold. Everyone reaches that point where they have to get real and pay the bills…on time. There comes a time when every struggling artist arrives at the conclusion that it is no longer cute to be a struggling artist. That there is nothing cute about being broke. There is nothing cool about borrowing money, living from check to check, having very little yet dreaming very big— no really at some point, I’ve been told, that everyone has to grow up. Grow tired, grow weary, grow cold, grow bitter, become disenchanted, work hard, buy house, have wife, have kids, have dog, stop dreaming, be real, be grown…
The numbers prove that these things are much more likely to come than success as an artist. It seems as though the world is screaming for me to wake up but the world is unaware that I’m in a comma. They may have to consider pulling the plug on this one.