Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Art is Dead

Keyboards are my paintbrush. Words are my acrylic and my watercolor. When painters produce cynical, controversial works of art they are praised for their complexity and vision. When I write the balanced truth, I am labeled a menace and a harlot. I am exhausted and drilled down. I need a healthy space in which to produce and express my art, but words are a commodity to be tossed in and out. Words hurt people. Words invoke jealous rages, bestial cries of betrayal, and finally tortured silences.
A word can put you on a plane. A word can scare you. A word can brand your self-worth and make you question your very existence.

A word is a sentence.