About Doing Your Work

Post 230:

            I’d like to think that most people just do what they do at work so that they can get to the rest of living as soon as possible.

            Of course, this is a ridiculous oversimplification; one made, in general, by the likes of someone like me—an artist.

            Talent is wasted on artists, by and large. Sitting around, quibbling over the best way to create something of indissoluble beauty or transcendence. A line that will forever resonate through the vicissitudes of time. A plot that stirs the very essence of any human being lucky enough to bask in its perfection. I’ve written hundreds of songs, scores of stories, finishing my fifth novel. Fairly sure it hasn’t effected climate change one way or the other.

            So its all pretty much a bunch of crap. The reason many artists get so bogged down, mucked up, sad, lonely, depressed, drug-addled, sick, down in the mouth, dyspeptic, despondent, bleary, weary, busted, broke…I think I’ve beat that horse…we just can’t do our work and get to the rest of living. Somehow the work is living, or at least tied up in the definition of life. It’s rather hard to explain, because, like I said, it’s pretty much a bunch of crap.

            Work. Live. Care as much as humanly possible. Just remember to be a human, not an artist. Trust me, I heard it from a philosopher. You know how steady that lot can be. Cheers. See you after.