So my friend told me the other day, “What if you don’t make it? What if you end up like all these people, working minimum wage because they’ve spent their lives working for nothing? You’ll end up old, broke, and nobody will hire you back.”
At this point I can write, “wellthat got me thinking,” but in fact it didn’t. In fact my response was so immediate because to me the question was so stupid.
“What makes you think I want to go back?” I said. “Besides, even if I don’t make it—”
Now let’s stop there for a moment. First of, I really hate it when people say that line: “Even if I don’t make it…” It is a statement of weakness disguised in moral eminence, as though money and fame didn’t really matter to you. It is a passive-aggressive claim of higher standards—a preemptive dulling of a theoretical pain—hiding the fact that you’ve accepted loss without actually losing. (more…)
There is still time. You can be anything you want. There is someone for everyone.
It is the cosmic lottery ticket, the deus ex machina, the human silver bullet. But what they don’t tell you is that hope has a darker element to it—its toxic compounds; its catabolic nature that eats away at your heart, mind, teeth and nails; its silver side effects.
Because the truth is, hope alone is not enough. (more…)
Not all art is created equal; just like not all men are created equal. Amongst us, there will always be those who succeed and those who will remain on the couch.
Not all art should be free; just like not all rights should be free. Some rights are given willingly because of its worthlessness, and some rights you have to fight for because of its potential for real change.
Now among many of our modern, comfort lies, there is a saying that never fails to bring out the inner serial killer in me. And that is the saying that, “art is subjective.”
I knew you’d slow me down with your pinky in the air,
but I knew you’re the one when you dipped down with your sable black hair.
I swear I hate this town and that’s how the story goes,
we got fifteen minutes before this goddamn place throws up and blows.
Moonshine, shoeshine, thirty-five dollars for a thong,
drinks on credit and I’m in the gutter singing this song.
It’s past midnight blues and you’re wearing shadow and lace,
but how can I say I love you when you’re sitting on my face? (more…)
We live in a noisy world and a noisy time. Even the silent moments of today are filled with noise—filled with a stream of videos, podcasts, blog entries, updates, tweets and texts. Most of our everyday lives are guided by councilors, classes, and curriculum. Our outlooks are influenced by forums, workshops, groups, guides and gurus. Our decisions are ruled by opinions, options, suggestions, and education. There’s all sorts of schooling, training and guidance out there. In fact, there’s an instruction manual for everything even on how to live your own life.
The only problem is: it is written by someone else. (more…)
The stars were swept and the sun went out, and then the Devil fell from the Great War in Heaven.
Looking down into the abyss, an Angel of the Sword asked him, “O Day Star, Son of Dawn, why were you cast down like lightning from the mountain of God? O Light Bringer, the once Guardian of Man, why do you now reside in the far reaches of the pit and walk the stones of fire?”
“Well shit,” the Devil replied. “I had to try.” (more…)
Edward backhanded me in the face, making me step back. I was stunned but not because of the blow; rather it was because it was illegal. Hitting in the face during sparring was not allowed because the school was afraid of parents suing them (which didn’t make sense since tournaments allowed a good bashing in the face).
I looked at the coach but he didn’t see. He was too busy looking at the other fighters who were also sparring.
“You sonofabitch!” I said, smiling in surprise and anger. I felt a twinge of self-hate for looking to the coach as though I needed help, as though I was a rat. (more…)