Smug Arses

"Stay away from me, if you're contagious...cuz I'm a winner, no not a loser!"

You knooow... I usually try to take it easy: I don't cause trouble, I don't bother nobody, and I don't talk ish about people when they're not around. But right now I gotta get this off my chest...
ONE thing I cannot STAAND: self-proclaimed, so-called artists hung up on some inflated sense of self-importance... This goes for creative would-be 'divas' and other similar buffoons practicing any medium of the creative and performing arts.
You knoooow...: those people who call themselves 'artist'...
Much to my dismay (and adding to the confusion of the undiscerning observer) they probably have some degree of talent and even of technical prowess... They talk about tryin to 'get signed,'..... they're in a group show and their work is waay overpriced.... Fools who think that, because they have some above-mediocre level of creative propensity, that makes them God's gift to society, and that someone owes them something, and that they can act like smug asses and spoiled brats w/ shitty draws on.
Pray that I never become one of these assholes; I hope my true friends would let me know if I did.
In contemporary society it seems there are so many of these so-called artists roaming the land...dismissive irresponsibility, hollow stylism, facetious obnoxious philanderers. I've wasted enough of my life typing about this issue now, I think.

I've got dreams - dreams too rememberrr

Pues, ves entonces..por que soy asi: mi soledad brother: Lone Lee... That's why I Keep It movin to th K.I.M.
+ I be on that straight up on that I be futuristic shhhttt... Let me show you my vision
Mr. Rodney Lee Jones Jr.

Wicked Hatchet Job

As the world burns, we need to get the word out... And somebody's gotta pay for that...
Hatchet Job

A thought amidst the rain...

Sometimes we can be strangers to ourselves.
-from the novel "A Way in the World", by V.S. Naipaul

...the dedication was good too:

And year by year our memory fades
From all the circle of the hills

Till from the garden and the wild
A fresh association blow,
And year by year the landscape grow
Familiar to the stranger's child.