This was written while working an overnight shift @ a gas station a few miles off the coast…
Listening to pop artists drone on and on about being a tortured artist just breaks my heart. My creative veins start boiling with resentment. A struggle is not a new found love with pot or a new tendency towards pouring a few too many and dancing in your own urine. Although, I will admit these moments make for fantastic stories. These events make terrible songs; full of repetitive lyrics that numb the brain into submission. While these cheap songs excite us like phases of our life, college buddies, and first boyfriends we come to realize they are like cheap amusement rides. The real passion, personality, and sincere lyrics, poetry, whatever come from self reflection and self deprecation. Being able to look within yourself and become friends with your faults. Stay humble, pour yourself, your true self into your art and if it stands the test of time above the rest, great. If not? You’ll forever be a hidden treasure lurking in a shoebox under your bed for someone, or no one to find. The point and the purpose is: truth, absolution, and fearlessly presenting yourself in whatever way you know how.
Posted by Tricia Chérie Pickenpaugh in Uncategorized Tags: absolution, fantastic stories, love, poetry, pop artists, pot, real art, truth
another broke writer 