Thursday, July 22, 2010
Am I safe?
This blog is many things, perhaps it's only one thing.If it is one thing I hope it is honest,to a certain degree, but in a good way.I hope it is more kind than it is cruel.
Three people may look at a Rose, one may see nothing but beauty, one will notice the greenfly and the third see only the thorns.
In all honesty there is no such universal thing as a rose, or anything in this world.No accepted fact or truth or reality, everything we see is a reflection of ourselves.So everything is different to every individual.
Money seems to rule the world.If Iam beautiful, how can I profit from it,If I am clever, how can I profit from it, If I can sing, how can I profit from it, If I can kick a ball skillfully, how can I profit from it, if I can paint,how can I profit from it, if I can write , how can I profit from it?
They say virtue is it's own reward.I'm beginning to believe that talent, also, is it's own reward.
I've spent most of my life doing soul destroying shitty jobs that I hated.I got a wage packet , rightly so, for each and every one of them. I never, ever, saw that as being paid. I saw it as compensation, and poor compensation at that, for wasting my hours, my days, my life.
They say money is the route of all evil. I say poverty does a pretty good job too. I say that those who are gifted a talent are the lucky ones, the ones that can see a rose as a rose.I say that their talent is worth more than it's weight in gold, it gives them a chance to live a better life, if not a wealthier one.
And yet all they cry for is money.
Poets, musicians, artists.
Vincent Van Gough lived in poverty, a tragedy. That is wrong.Would money have eased his burden? Possibly, but I doubt it. Would it have made him a better artist? No way!
What is more of a tragedy to my eyes, more wrong, is that his art is worth millions now. That's totally ridiculous, obscene.
There is no money in poetry.People wail about it, I rejoice in it.If you write poetry in any kind of earnest manner it's because you need to, not because you want to. Money would ruin poetry.
How do I know? I know because the few poets that do make money,win nonsensical prizes, bore me to tears.
TFE's opinions are amorphous , a moveable feast, a thinking out loud, looking for an echo, constantly changing, blowin in the wind, I'm learning what I think.Tomorrow it may all be different.
What do you believe, today?