19 Jan 2011

January 19, 2011

I’ve been thinking about craft and art and brilliance. About how it takes years to be able to do anything well, decades maybe, but then you have these people who just pick up a pencil and can draw.

Sometimes things have to get worse before they get better. You have to go from accidentally being creative to purposefully being creative and in middle things feel pretty artificial, formulaic. That’s probably where most people give up.

This might blow your mind. This sentence is a lie.

Except you’ve probably heard that one before. Most people have heard that one before.

Maybe talent isn’t such a big deal, anyways.

A few years ago a friend told me he hadn’t been bored a single day in his life, everything was interesting to him. Put him in a room, he’d be entertained. I, on the other hand, have been bored plenty of times; it’s what keeps me productive.

I do, however, own a gameboy. And then of course there’s netflix.

Apparently lots of poets use line-breaks wherever they want, willy-nilly, for no reason at all. And here I was thinking there was a reason for these things…

This post isn’t very good.

I go to a Panda Express near my apartment and there’s a guy named kyle making my plate. He’s young, sharp, out-going — looks like he could work at a radio station. He seems thrilled to be filling a styrofoam box with my orange chicken. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to be happy about this. It’s okay to hate it.

“Let’s not mistake whatever isn’t hell

for part of heaven”

I guess what I’m talking about here is potential. I’m talking about making stuff. I’m talking about that day when potential turns sour and rots in the back of your refrigerator beneath a crinkly layer of reynolds wrap.

 

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