Keep Art Alive :: Art by Esao Andrews
“Parody of yourself in color,
giving it to everybody but your mother.
You’ve got much to think about.”
As I dig down and deep, peeling back the surfaces and scraping off the desire and decay, I find all the gaps in my story, all the plot holes and misconceptions, and all the damn illusion. I have doubted myself for so long, always waiting for some far away time when I would be better, skinnier, stronger, in a better place, that I have let my talents waver and my dreams auction off to the lowest bidder. My tales to tell, my words and imagined creatures and characters, they keep being put on hold, left hanging in purgatory, dancing a jig with the monsters and memories off in the land of limbo. No more, no more, no more. I am letting them out, all the crazy and chaotic, to clasp hands with me and my muses. We are ready to run, jump and take off into the great nothing.
The stories are unraveling, they wake me in the middle of the night, poking and probing, and turning me on. I have to get up, shaking, wet and inspired, and write until my hands cramp up and my fingers bleed. Everything is pouring out of me, like a Summer storm off the Florida Coast, hot and hurried, intense but fleeting, get it down quickly, type or write or scream it all out, do not let these stories run away without me. No more, no more, no more. I am releasing them, singing them, writing them all down. My everything is anything but delayed. It is time to risk it all and really live.
Here and Now :: Letters to Cleo