ARTISTS ARE FUCKED UP PEOPLE

Artists are fucked up people.

Poets, painters, writers.

We didn’t ask for this. We didn’t want this.

It came to us like some addiction we never asked for.

Like some virus that determines our fate.

Low wages, poverty, no pay. Dreams of grandeur, thinking outside the box. We don’t know how to live with it. A gift maybe? A curse? Some of us are remembered, others long forgotten even if talented. 

They say things like ” Keep your day job” and ” There’s no future in this”

Cause you see, artists are fucked up people. 

And we’re proud of it.

Because somewhere within us? 

We are following our path to freedom 

Humanity at it’s best

Finding it’s way home

SO THIS IS WHAT IT’S LIKE

The cats 

Are asleep

My wife

At work

Me?

Home

Sick as a dog

Is this what it’s like 

To get old?

Sitting here

Watching a Robert Mitchum 

Movie looking for a direction 

Wisdom?

A takeaway 

Which remains 

Somewhere in

My soul

What’s it like 

To grow old?

Not a zen master

But just another

Ordinary man

The clock hands

Keep moving 

The old habits

Die hard

A generation 

That refuses to

Accept mortality 

Still playing 

Punk Rock when

No one’s around

Still looking at old

Motorcycles I’ll most

Likely never buy

But

What happened to freedom?

Morality? Soul?

These truths we hold evident 

Still working towards some

Magical moment or

Retirement 

No worries 

I’m not sad

Not depressed

But like the rest of

My Gen X society 

Still angry

All of us waiting 

For some amazing 

Moment where the

Sun will once again 

Shine 

Waiting for a completely 

Fucked up world to rise

And become all that we

Imagined

All that was once promised 

But that never

Happens

And now

The house is empty

The kids are gone

And for them?

The clock is still ticking

Good Luck