My bigass, solemn mission statement

We are real people and nobody owns us. We are born with infinite curiosity and no fear of failure. As we grow up, we let the wounded ones hurt us and lethaly confuse us. Think about it – it’s the diseased ones who write the rules most people live by, how sick is that! And they are the ones who make big eyes whenever somebody over twelve years old talks about dreams.

I was standing in line at the airport the other day, and looking at people. I could not make myself believe  that at some point all of them were kids. They had to be, but it did not seem very probable. Kids have shiny eyes, kids have no fear. They are selfish, they are greedy, but they don’t know there is a limit to what they can do. And those people….dull, dull, dull. Hope lost a long time ago.

People who don’t own themselves. People who have been tricked by corporations, spouses, governments, television channels and photoshopped rock stars into thinking that dreams are for fools and heroes.

I believe that all human beings, inlcuding myself, can do what they say they want if they really want it. Saying it is scary, because my own mind says, “And now prove it!”.

Here is what I want to do to prove it.

la-la land

I met Derek Sivers of CD Baby. He was as smart and charming as I expected.

Artists in the audience were bitching about piracy, and how people would buy an mp3 and put it on more than one device, and I in my mind was composing an “Agreement On Exclusive Use of  Turkey Sandwich”: “I hereby guarantee that the aforementioned Sandwich will not be touched by any person other than the Purchaser of the Sandwich hereof”.

Or “Exclusive Car Use Agreement” ensuring that you are going to be the sole driver of the vehicle that you bought.

Isn’t the implication of buying something the freedom to use it as one pleases? Growing up in a communist country, I always thought so…

 

 

Almost a fable

I was parallel parking my car, when I heard a sound of a horn.

 

“What the fuck do you want from me?“, – went through my mind, and then, “God, I am doing something wrong, again!”, – and then – “Motherfuckers, don’t you dare beep at me!“, – and then – “Oh God, why can’t I do anything right?“

.

.

.

.

.

…and then I realized, I accidentally pushed the horn on my own car. There was nobody else around.

 

Why I need to share my art

Again, I made myself verbalize it, because, really, why? Do I like the spotlight? (Yes, but it’s not it). Do I feel inferior till somebody praises me (Yes, but I got over it, for the most part).

Why I create art.

I made myself answer this question in writing. And here is what I watched myself write.

I think my art is as good as the best art I grew up on – Jim Morrison, Lou Reed, Nick Cave…I can package my soul no worse than they did, to show to other people what I feel. If other people know what and how I feel, I am less lonely. I am not creating art to mimic actions of other people, I don’t need that kind of example, like I don’t need inspiration to pee.