It was another night at the bar last night. The usual suspects were there. However, it was a real slow night, which means that I am forced to go into production, instead of what I would rather be doing, and that is selling art. I'm sick of making it. I wouldn't mind some sales.
Actually, I love making art, but the reality of the world says that I have to sell. My rent certainly requires me to sell if I am to keep a roof over my head.
Sometimes, I don't know why people don't like me or my art. Sometimes it is me, sometimes it is them. Sometimes it is both of us, or neither. Sometimes I want to sell, but I'm not fond of the person much, so I would rather he/she doesn't buy my art. I don't like my art being in the wrong hands.
Anyway, I'm sitting here like a dick, listening to the guitar player next door noodling away, when all I want to do is write. Who does he think he is, Slash? Guitar players are a dime a dozen these days, kind of like photographers,...or painters.
I had all these plans to write about some things, but the guitar player, and now another band across the way is interfering with my thought processes.
Sorry, world. Now I can't write what I was going to write. I guess you guys will never know what is on my mind.
Actually, it was all just stupid bar stuff from the last couple of days that I was going to write about.
I don't know if it is worth it now to mention any of it.
What is the point?
I don't know.
I really don't know.
I just don't really know.
I don't know, really, at all.
I really just don't honestly know.
I just really don't know, honestly, at all.
But really, I honestly don't know, really, seriously.
Maybe I'll just take a nap, and think about all of the stuff that I could have said about Roy, David G., Tony, Connie, Jessica, and all the rest.
Yeah, maybe I will leave it to another day.
The moment is gone. The musicians ruined it for me, once again.
Thanks, guys.
Thanks, a lot, really.
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