echoes from long ago

The artist always faces conflict between his inner truth and the greater demands of the public reality. The artist knows the public dialogue is a sham. He feels this very acutely knowing what is real and what he sees to be. It's a fine line because it can veer into self delusion or at the very least extreme self destruction It becomes a dance between being faithful to one's vision and self survival. D. thought these thoughts as the cold dread from the miasma of the American stink drifted through his veins. He thought about self medicating with alcohol but really that was no choice. The buzz wore off and you woke up the next day in the same spot you were the day before. Despite this uneasiness decided to move on with the podcast and read his poem. echoes from long ago drift over the empty white snow...

we're not going anywhere...

mockingbird shot by our own self importance...

see ya' d0wn the empty street to nowhere...

hope you're having fun...

in your hustle...

in your lie...

I won't tell on you if you won't tell me on me...