Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Writers & Me

Last night I hung out with a bunch of writers. It is nice to spend time with people who don't paint or draw for a living. Sometimes I forget that other people exist out there. Not knocking artists, but writers are interesting. That is something I wish I was good at. See look at that sentence. I might as well have written "Gee whiz I dang sure would like to write stuff n' junk." I can't write worth a poo. Oh well. I can do drawings.

I can't wait to eat stuffing.

Once more thing. I was just thinking about all the blogs and websites in the world and how everyone is crying out for attention including me. It is overwhelming. It is embarrassing always writing about myself and trying to get people to buy my art, or look at my art. I wish I was different and didn't care, but I really do want people to be interested in my junk.

So I just want to write this to get it off my chest. I might as well embrace it. Me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me and what not, me me me me me me me me me me and me. Me me me me me, heck yeah, me me me me me me me me me. Me me me me me me me me fantastic me me me. Ok me me me me. And last but not least, me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me me. Thank me.
Sincerely Mine,
Me

3 comments:

plushpussycat said...

SO.

I came to your blog by way of James Yang. As soon as I finished reading your post I commenced singing (YES! SINGING!) "You you you you you you you..." On and on, you get the idea.

Often I have thought of blogs, of people standing up on Earth, like strands of hair where they grow from the scalp, yelling silently, "I am here. HERE. See me. Hear me. Recognize the me-ness of ME."

Then I think of e-mails as words strung out, flying along in clusters like migrating Canadian geese. Somehow they spread out on the computer page, into letters, communication, with never a hint of their endangered journey.

And the persons who stood up crying out for mention, for status, for their own humanity accepts the e-mails as ordinary, sometimes as spam, sometimes as nothing more than a bother.

There seems to be no community. We seems forever to be alone. Even when we write hymns to me and someone else reads our song...and turns away.

cynthia korzekwa said...

Well, I'm reading you!

Anonymous said...

Love your art.

Love the fact you care that people are interested in your art.

Love that you're perplexed by the negative vibe some people give to commercial art (even though "pure" artists are commercial the moment they sell a piece).

Obviously, enjoy writing the word "love" just a bit too much.