Your feigned Bohemianism, your gallery, coffee shop, DownCity attendance, your anti-ass-kissing lifestyle as you kiss underarms for the sake of a cause other than yourself. Do you think that nobody sees what you’re doing? Of course they do, but they’re on your side. Don’t fret. Every day that you get through without rejection or criticism is a day wasted. A day that you coped out. A day that you were less than you could be. But who’s to blame you? The tiny crumbs of mid-class comfort avail themselves, just enough warmth and tartness to lull you to sleep under your down comforter. I for one wouldn’t rock the boat. I’d do as you’re doing. Pretend. Play the rebel but keep your mouth open and smiling, ready for another meal. We are led by our limbic regions, and therefore choose survival over truth. Let somebody else get assassinated. Not a bad idea, if you fess up to it instead of continuing to consider yourself an outsider and worthy of accolades. What makes you better than the radical right christian murderers? Nothing. In fact, you’re meak and slimy compared to the Fundamentalists. Your detachment kills as many people as their fanaticism. You are the mirror image of hell and your consistent angst meter proves it. If you are like me, your excuse is sensitivity. You can’t deal with the pain. Instead, you cop a plea and make safe. You, like me, want the applause without the high wire walk. And so, here we are, entrapped together in mediocrity, soothed to sleep by our denial and rationalizations. After all, we say, I’m an artist. After all, we say, I don’t work for The Man. After all, we say, I contribute. But it all comes down to a unrestrained vanity of purpose – an absolute sham. How strong, the denial of those creative. How simple and base the denial of the left-hemisphered. It is a slimy dance around the WaterFire, as we all struggle to achieve nothing except recognition and a minimum wage. I am surprised that I have sold out for nothing.