Thoughts From An Artist

Stressing again and it's screwing with my artistic integrity. I'm starting to slip away from who I once was and evolve into something, else. I don't know what it is. Maybe the lack of trust in authority to make me feel safe when I turn on my computer or the length of my hair intimidating potential roommates when it's time to meet me for housing interviews. Maybe it's the fact that my brother's and sister's wont give up fried foods in hope of living longer. I'd rather not consider that drowning sorrow yet I am aging and health waits for no man. That's word to Steve Jobs. 
I can't understand a lot of things. I search for answers in harrowing times. It's madness, people still stare at me in discomfort when I enter a room based on my complexion. Half the time I went out in Bushwick, I felt like the only black dude. Hollywood, same thing. Downtown LA, same thing. I feel lost you know. I'll go to Uptown parties or South Central functions and people will treat me like an outsider cause I carry myself different. Anytime there'd be a conversation about racial politics and I state my stance, people label me a radical. If not they'd be like "Well he's intelligent but look at his shoes. He can't be taken serious wearing those."
Feel like I'm running in circles man. It's crazy. Give it all you got every time you get a chance to give and somehow you whiff. I'm loosing touch with what I want but I know what I need. Man rages war against man but I'm not supposed to think about it because I have to focus? That's the worst part. It hurts considering the idea that no matter how hard I think about societal change, things will only get worse. I try to stay dialed in but it's impossible not to be affected by the mistreatment of the planet, our bodies, our minds and our future. I feel for the children. 
See. It's those thoughts right there that hold me back from saying "to hell with it" and just tune out the world. Like how the hell can I work knowing every hour of every day another family is bombed. Another "suspect" is gunned down. Another child 3 times the size of his/her average weight won't outlive their parents. It fucks with me daily. It's like any day no matter the weather soon as I open my eyes to the window of the internet it starts raining. It made me realize certain things and focus less on the reactions of people around me. Let me break that down
You know how many shows I've done? Emails I've sent? Tracks I've released? Art I've exhibited? And my own "friends" don't even give it the time of day. It's rather painful but I never tell them. Good to keep em where they are cause it's easy to be alone. Hard to keep people around. Friends can care about you but to support someone you must truly love them. I get my fair share of care but some of the support is tainted with dust. I keep them polished top to bottom sitting upon lemon scented shelfs yet still my books go unread. 
All these things come into play when the time calls for creation. Discomfort is the key to lack of production. It's not comfortable knowing that your hard work and talent goes unnoticed by surrounding eyes. It is rather comforting to see the support and genuine respect you can obtain from someone half way around the world. That's part of what makes the fight worth it. The knowing that even though the people to the left and right of you aren't looking to the right or left of them, there are people out there who are in search of an escape from the problems of the world. For them I am here. For the seekers of art that grasps ones soul at a single glance, at the press of one button, at the turn of one page. That's what I do it for. That understanding of the connection to art with ones heart is the thing that fuels me. Those vibrations are impossible to go unfelt.
You can't be numb for long when you have too much soul. The soul is the thing that keeps you hydrated in the heat of the desert. Keeps you focused in the middle of the storm. Keeps you alive when deep in the trenches behind enemy lines. The soul of a fighter is something you need to understand about a person. That's the thing that gives one validation of their said purpose on this planet. Good or bad. You have to understand it. How hard are you willing to fight? How hard are you willing to breath? To thrust yourself forward from the ropes and fight one more round when the walls come closing in? Give it all you got and look back later. That's the name of the game. Are you willing to play? Cause you might get hurt. You will get hurt. Countless times.
The more you throw yourself out there, the more past wounds take the form of scars. It's the precise moment that realizing right after they heal and you'll be able stand once more that keeps you going. As a kid you're taught that if you believe you'll live to see another day then you live see another day but as a concerned black man at times it's hard to feel alive when people around you keep getting killed. It's easy to feel worthless inferiority but if you channel that energy towards the arts you can find reasons to be genuine, honest and respectful human beings towards/with one another. Wether you have to talk, listen, dance or develop photos to understand one another. Whatever it takes to grow, we have no choice. Because before we know it we won't have any else to talk to. 


Posted on December 28, 2015 and filed under Words.