Artist

Sometimes I revel in how amazingly clever I am.
So then I drink a glass of wine to celebrate my astonishing cleverness.
I awake the following morning, slowly open my eyes and breathe in the air of a new day, and see that I'm not clever at all, that I'm actually exploiting my own mental handicap, which is the bloated ego of someone who occasionally thinks they have something clever to say.  And then I become sad, and celebrate this sadness with another glass of wine, which ends up yielding an additional handicapped/clever idea that I am incapable of keeping to myself for any duration of time.

I'm smart enough to know that I should be ashamed, but dumb enough to think my ideas can provide entertainment.  This is the cyclical obstruction of the creative mind.

In case you didn't already know, this is the only true definition of an artist.  And I say that with a certain degree of love for myself, and all other artists.

But everyone fucking hates artists, especially artists.  Maybe that's why artists all hate themselves, and lead perilously destructive lives.  We realize how bullshit we are, but we just can't seem to stop.  Somewhere in there, someone gets a kick out of it, which makes it all worth while.  So really, people who appreciate the arts are not high culture, they are enablers.

People aren't visiting the Museum of Modern Art, they're visiting the Modicum of Mediocre Attempts.

All right that's not fair.  Everything I've seen at the MOMA is profoundly more exciting than most things I see in any place at any time.  Except for when I'm watching Cosmos: A Spacetime Odyssey with Neil DeGrasse Tyson.  THAT'S the most exciting thing I've seen in a while.



Okay well here's a collage for no reason, because reading text on the internet generally requires a visual pay off.

pay off!