Once, I knew a woman who described herself as a writer.
When I told her that I’d love to read some of her writing, she replied, no, I don’t show it to anyone. It’s too important to me, it’s better if I don’t show it.
I can’t be completely certain, but I think I understand what she meant.
It’s a risk. It’s really scary, to share something important, something that has too much of “you” on it.
When Dada sings this song, to me it sounds like a lament of an artist.
She’s an American highway flower
Walking, blossoming into nowhere
Digesting tailpipes and babies’ screams
To fill the hole that used to house her dreams
I wonder what I’m doing here
She asks the moon but he don’t care
He’s busy shinin’ on the lucky
In the dark she swims toward nothing
Why all my ideas
Peel and turn to rust
Why I feel I must
I guess I’ll ask the dust
You pour yourself into something and take huge risks, but so many times it just feels like it returns nothing. In frustration, you give up — but not for long. After a while, you get the bug again and start it up. Gifts are like ball and chain. If you have them, then you feel tied down by it. It’s heavy and it hurts but you can’t stop.
Well friends, I really don’t have good news here. I’m one such person who just keeps showing up, keeps plugging away, dismaying all the time that it really doesn’t do anything good. Many times I wonder why I can’t just leave it behind, why I can’t just relax and live an easy, lazy life.
It’s because I feel I must. Otherwise, I’ll die regretting.