Listen my ego needs stroking, my self esteem needs a bath, the chin of my desire has been punched by the Ali of boredom, and damn what a K.O.
I would like to believe that i am as brilliant, and beautiful as i pretend to be. This constant need to be validated has caused me to question my sincerity, as an "artist" I have a hard time calling myself an "Artist", what the hell does that mean any way?
you can turn taking a shit into an artform, or waging war, or making love, or stealing, killing, even sleeping even making Noise.
I can only justify surrendering to this creative urge by, looking at all the "things" in my life because of this affliction..The Good, The Bad, The Beautiful, The things ill never talk about...The beautiful...Little 7 month old wonder and her mother...That amaze me and keep me in awe.
Be well assured that insecurity is only the assumption that security always a work in progress.
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