i used to know how trumpets turned
buzzing lips into triumphant vibrato.
or how an ugly piece of clay
could become the topic of choice
in a highly decorated modern art gallery.

now i could care less.

i used to know how to tear apart written lines
for the sake of action-on-stage
and make it creative and fun and instinctive.

now i second guess my thoughts on my thoughts.

on my thoughts.

it is cruel juxtaposition
when art can be made worthless
by one critic or two.

the one who hurts us the most
is the one who's supposed to guide us.

07/04/2006

Author's Note: a horribly depressing day in which i felt nothing was right.

Posted on 07/05/2006
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