This is torture!
I just came to the troubling perception that artists could, in fact, be cursed individuals. Cursed with a sickness. They’re not conventional, in a sense. Their talents are an incurable disease. And their work is the only known pill that’s keeping them alive, sane and worth jack!
When you think of the great artists that ever lived, there seems to be a common thread. Though, not a pleasing one. Look at Michelangelo, Rembrandt, Van Gogh, Morrison and Cobain, to name a few. It’s a little scary, if you ask me.
So, if you consider yourself an artist but can actually survive a day without creativity being the absolute center of your universe, you ought to think twice. Being one is like a citizenship. Or a race, almost. You belong, whether you like it or not, to a world outside the usual one. Your innate sense and constant craving for creativity is the chasm that separates you from the rest of the average crowd. It’s you and them. You’re here and they’re there. There’s a distance, alright. Sometimes it’s not much, sometimes it is great. It can be a lonely and demanding place where you are a slave over your desire for accomplishment rather than your need to eat and have a warm place to stay.
Crazy! It’s torture, I’m tellin’ ya!
However, I took a test and was proven wrong. Dagnabit! My ego is bruised.
Whaddya mean I’m normal?
Scary. I could be a walking contradiction.
But, what do I know now?