Tuesday, May 5, 2015

Magical Thinking

There is no logical line of reasoning which would lead one to choose a career in the arts. It is a hopeless endeavor, guaranteeing only such anxiety, ridicule, disfavor and failure as to bring one to an early death. Even worse is to have additionally ordered, out of the menu of life's idiocies, a soup├žon of great expectations sprinkled over top, as these will lend even a bitterer taste, that of a bright future tragically unmet. Yet every day, we see bags of newly-minted and fresh-faced young folks unloaded off the trucks arriving in the Big Art City, fresh from the farm, dreaming of the stardom that they so deserve and so clearly must achieve that they can hear its metallic clang ringing just off in the distance.

We feel the specialness of us in ourselves, we understand that we are the ones who will be chosen, if we just believe, if we just work hard, if we just climb hand over hand without stopping nor questioning. Studiousness and perseverance are our tools, and we set our faces determinedly toward the sun. But, someday, we will have to scratch the sparkling silver foil from off the lottery ticket, and see revealed all the possibilities left unfulfilled: two out of three liberty bells, mismatched dollar amounts, a not-quite diagonal bingo line. We try to get back to the 7-Eleven® to buy another, but they are there no longer, replaced long ago by a Chinese restaurant now out of business, fortune cookies crumbling on the sidewalk, their enclosed slips of paper blown away or so faded they can no longer be read.

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