why i was meant to be an artist
the sun is glorious on the patio at the cafe downstairs from my luxury apartment. i think i need to move out.
all i want to do is write and write and write about nothing and everything. i want my time, i want my space. i want the glory. i want the pain.
now cheesy but ever excellent popular rolling stones songs burst in my ears making not smiling impossible.
i had my first sips of red wine in many days this afternoon out here. the wine is something i cannot actually afford now. i wonder when this sort of indulgence will die truly. this is terrifying because i am not a political person to find the support in these kind of things except for denying myself what i actually want what is true for me to secure money for such things. maybe this won't be the case. maybe this could change.
its that time of the season in amsterdam where the spring starts to show its face against the dark winter hours, but the fresh grass isn’t here yet so my allergy symptoms are only little and my fingers can be bare for a few hours too.
i look forward equally to phases of isolation and surroundings by new others. i feel the energy in these scenes.
moving my body is the only constant necessary.
the sun is setting and air is colder. only a few minutes necessary for this transition.
i love smiling at the strangers when they catch me soaking their faces in. their gestures. their colors, their wrinkles, the years ahead of them. the desire and inability to be inside of them is infectious. do they always wear those rings. is this a special day they have off or is it every wednesday they get drinks with the neighbor dad.
im not sure i ever fully enjoyed this kind of nonproductive time with myself. now of course the problem is of not wanting to HAVE to produce something or DO something that isn’t mine or something truly important to me, a meaningful influence in the world.
i want the days the nights the world to do both.
why can this not be life?
i wish i had been younger when i realized i was mean to be an artist.
i don’t want to market i don’t want to business i want to read and write and dance and make colorful things and be in loving company. i want to help others with true needs. i want to be in life while i have it. i want to be here. learn how to work hard and focus for myself? have i really done this before? am i wasting away? am i more alive?
being a seat away from the woman smoking with the thin purple eyeliner feels comforting.
i can't say its particularly inspiring, but her outfit is carefully thought out, her colors considered. she is too close for me to look too long though without her starting a conversation.
i leave this now. youtube has chosen to my contentment the doors. my hands are too cold now anyway and i must move inside.🝏