four tweets, four thoughts
would anyone love me for it? what does the past do? what do you do? so much salvation to do — out of lack, we work and fulfill for others; good copy for a nunnery or religious sect based on service to the poor; certainly gives the day some urgency and order, structure; food and singing in the evenings, read and write and talk and host all day, exercise in the afternoon; i have already derived the pattern of my ideal life — — now fame does not matter, I prefer quiet
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can we connect around hunger for tenderness? I am so acclimated to my wounds, which make me sensitive to those of others; I am a sinner (singer), missing the mark, not being good enough yet, trying, all I have to offer is my humility and vision and hope; it’s embarrassing, small, humble; fame is far away, the game of images; I only care about individuals — I see them as I see myself; it is heavy carrying a body through one’s life, magical and lucky we have survived at all, somehow the walls stayed up, meals were there — thank God? I wanted to do it myself. Now I might be done with wanting credit
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it’s always now — the world is bigger than us yet we spend all day onscreen with calendars fighting ourselves to stay afloat and on schedule and do enough be enough help enough say enough grow enough, and it leads only to breathless surrender and a need to be forgiven for not being perfect, or better; somehow all depends on tomorrow even though we must be present today because there is nothing but Now, tomorrow is a myth to keep marchers marching; yes it does come and becomes today — i wonder how much verve an event or meeting can have that is scheduled beforehand; maybe i have not wanted to surrender to other people’s scheduling because i don’t trust other people’s motives; if it involves ego enhancement or monetary acquisition for them, i don’t trust the purity; there is however no other world but the world of other human beings, greed, and my judgment of them, and also my inability to really know, and my lack of desire to ask, and my lack of trust that they even know how to tell their own truth
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unless having created is nothing to own, and a creator’s work is not important to anyone but them, which isn’t true; all creators need contemporaries; where does it lead? What is the end state? Is life good because of it? Are these creators what the masses see, say, on television? How much culture is enough? Only the very best will be cherrypicked by the platforms, the networks, the ones in control — radio, television, film…actors, real artists; art galleries, painters; agents swarm everywhere — money in the water, we fiend over it like blood
