So there comes a time in every writer’s life, when you just don’t know what to say. And you want to be funny, and hell, you are funny, sometimes you can't even HELP but be funny, it's like Jesus puts the jokes directly into your mouth and it's all you can do to spit them up all over everyone. And then sometimes being funny is hard, hard when you have things happen such as the death of Heath Ledger. And everyone is talking about it, everywhere you go. And yet I can’t think of one witty thing to say about it.
Not one fucking thing.
Mostly because he is 28. Damn, man, 28 years old. Why? Why at 28? When you got everything?
Look at us writers, waking up every morning , taking our first sip of coffee, trying to get out there running, make some career out of nothing.
Say something.
Write something.
Act something.
Model something, that means something.
Does it mean something?
Writing, blogging, thinking, smoking, sipping coffee, thinking more, blogging more, more smoking, more drinks, more writing, more thinking….and for what?
For a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
Want a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
Got a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
So you wake up, start running, start hustling, go get a little bit more. Off to get just heard, just a little bit more. All of us creative individuals, looking to get some piece of work heard, seen, smelled, tasted, touched. God all I want is to heard. God all I want is to be seen. God all I want is to be touched. And look. Look how great fame is. So great that it can’t even make you happy. Can’t save you from much, especially not yourself.
Couldn’t save Heath.
Is it going to save you?
Couldn't save Heath.
So to all my writers, my actors, my singers, my dancers, my models, my painters, my thinkers, my comics, my sculptures, my script writers…I hope that what your out there hustling for each morning is happiness. For peace with yourself. Or maybe some sort of peace in your life where you are. Cause being heard, seen, tasted, touched, may never make you complete.
Do what you love.
Love what you do.
Cause fame will never complete you.
Not one fucking thing.
Mostly because he is 28. Damn, man, 28 years old. Why? Why at 28? When you got everything?
Look at us writers, waking up every morning , taking our first sip of coffee, trying to get out there running, make some career out of nothing.
Say something.
Write something.
Act something.
Model something, that means something.
Does it mean something?
Writing, blogging, thinking, smoking, sipping coffee, thinking more, blogging more, more smoking, more drinks, more writing, more thinking….and for what?
For a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
Want a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
Got a little bit of fame?
Maybe.
So you wake up, start running, start hustling, go get a little bit more. Off to get just heard, just a little bit more. All of us creative individuals, looking to get some piece of work heard, seen, smelled, tasted, touched. God all I want is to heard. God all I want is to be seen. God all I want is to be touched. And look. Look how great fame is. So great that it can’t even make you happy. Can’t save you from much, especially not yourself.
Couldn’t save Heath.
Is it going to save you?
Couldn't save Heath.
So to all my writers, my actors, my singers, my dancers, my models, my painters, my thinkers, my comics, my sculptures, my script writers…I hope that what your out there hustling for each morning is happiness. For peace with yourself. Or maybe some sort of peace in your life where you are. Cause being heard, seen, tasted, touched, may never make you complete.
Do what you love.
Love what you do.
Cause fame will never complete you.
