Pride and pretension

November 24, 2011 § Leave a comment

Pistol shots ring out on a bar room night.” – Hurricane – Bob Dylan.

I don’t see William Shakespeare missing too many meals” The words rang out like a pistol shot over a quiet room. The point was valid but it wasn’t the point he intended to make. That would be the difference here. Being wide of the mark isn’t enough, it’s close, but it’s just not the mark. Lost thoughts are like spent shells. Incriminating. They will bother you should you leave them behind.

She was kind of heart. I could tell that from the start. But indifference has lent itself to me recently so I passed it by. Her point was that writers never go hungry. That’s not true. It’s not. Shakespeare never went hungry, not in the later years at least. But I wonder if he would trade his hunger for any hang ups that come with a silver tongue. Writers aren’t too bothered about money. If they are they are not writers. They are labourers. They are just workers if money is the issue. A real writer will go hungry, without sleep, food, love. Without what normal people need. Because normal people aren’t writers or musicians or artists. They lack the pretension. The need. That madness that sets the artist apart. Swings and roundabouts.


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