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Poems..



       I have no humbleness in me.
       And like years go - it's getting worse. Once upon a time:
I could at least think about: what if:  What If I would start to
make something for sale: but now: I'm physically sick     - even
with that fleeting thought.
       I simply did not dig through my ego sediments enough:  to
become an artist: an audience servant: but: I accept this mostly
with humility - I'm not artist.
       Actually: I proudly consider as tremendous trouble: that:
even the relatively independent creative persons:  are suffering
by the business principle of looking at oneself: and realization
self.
       :I mean: find what you love and go for it. Sell it.  Make
offers. Let know about yourself!
       Not! That's prostitution: Don't go anywhere:   brother of
mine! 
       It just has to come to you!
       :And if it doesn't come: fuck it!
       :And you can't to make a living with what you love:    in
the end: it will force you to such dishonest thoughts: that:  if
you had no support from people      - so you wouldn't be able to
create ...
       :Or: this was not very much for people   - I had to enter
to myself: blah blah: I did not meet with the success: blah blah
blah: I had to reconsider it - why would it be then?
       What the fuck?!?
       This is:   how you give to everyone fucker the power over
yourself: he can determine anytime - who you are     - and if he
didn't tell you: you wouldn't be neither.
       Ha! Certainly yes!



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