So I have to be prepared to lose her for this. Which is more than I can probably take. A life without her would be empty. And that’s the problem with art. You have to be willing to lay what you love the most upon the altar. You have to willing to pick up the dagger and slit its throat above the golden bowl. If not you're better off a banker. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough.   The ones who don’t fit in.   The ones I see my own face in.  
Read more
Along rue Notre-Dame I walk slow, no rush. A homeless woman with blue hair stomps through the park barking like a dog, princess printed on her shirt. In a greek restaurant I order food. The waiter says I sound like un vrai français. Get the fuck out of here I laugh. It’s Saturday night, the whole city smiles. 
Read more
The feeling of something ain’t right isn’t scratching my stomach or clogging the air today. Of course I don’t want to be here but making money is a necessity. I have to pay the phone bill and the internet and I’d like to eat, how bourgeoisie. I’m lucky though, I dug in, my rent is cheap. I have what it takes to make it. 
Read more