Whenever I feel like
Hanging-
lolling my head, I turn to this book.
Words appear how they are- no more, no less.
The doors of perception are infinite, no boundaries.
I may have stayed up, late, just to write here. Or drop tears on paper like rain drops on lakes.
Smudging the lines, words...
into vast grey nothingness.
To enjoy the world in a room
Full of boring analogies and empathic wallpaper.
Artistic excellence thus dies
And with it my youthful, passionate side
When you're strange no one cares:
Like a customer in a pawn shop has only come to look at wares.
Superficial, empty.
And that ghost of my former self
Comes alive when I no longer care-
If I'm strange, sadistic, wicked.
I die a little inside seeing her joy.
Like the gypsy who comes to worship Mammon; she seeks wealth, fame prosperity;
Because she has no one she can value
She can only put a price on her folly.
Bought and sold, tossed around.
Moving from group, to group:
A nomad, a merchant, a nobody.
Like the Moor who threw away a pearl richer than all his tribe-
I throw away my artistic side.
Freedom is out of reach
And once again I have been swept up on the shore of an abandoned beach.
Indifferent. Garbage. Waste.
A complex dialogue of not caring about how other people perceive your art or judge it.
1 'who comes to worship Mammon' one of the seven princes of hell of greed of money. The gypsy wants recognition from others in the form of prosperity and wealth because nobody values her as a poor roamer.
2 'Like the Moor who threw away a pearl...' a reference to Shakespeare's 'Othello' in the final scene of the play. Othello realises the trickery of Iago, the antagonist, who has led Othello to killing his loyal wife, Desdemona.
