They say I’m my own worst enemy—
but I just chose truth over the fluff-porn scene.
Not even the xXx kind—
just the fixation on those prepping the actor for the scene,
now crowned as the stars.
You don’t want the real thing—
it’s too terrifying for you all.
I stood on the shoulders of giants until I felt tall.
I grew up with masters I revered,
held a healthy fear of—for good reason.
Their being was untouched by the mundane.
You’d be scared to say hello.
Their art—music, visual, whatever—
elevated the possible for us:
insignificant little humans
staring into the face of life,
but powerful.
They touched the sacred—through beauty or filth—
and you felt it.
And you knew not to fuck with that.
So if now you tell me being small,
a humble designer of a room,
and thinking deeply—
standing against the deafening of us all—
is somehow a downfall,
then go on.
Peddle your pleasantries and distractions,
as the world spins again
to worship another plastic,
a new couldn’t-care-less,
mindless “dialogue of the elements.”
While the breathing space for the soul
thins once more.
Work: The Pretenders
1/1 that comes with a physical signed print if the collector is willing to pay cost + postal
1/1 on Series:
”Things You Think and Believe but Can’t Say Inside the Arts"
