The way I produce, still...
"Wake up" at least hinted at work, the lure of it turns out.
I, those in the list, and a sliding block puzzle.
But he wants to school.
If I, the critically acclaimed modernization of his chair, to be low density.. Holding a family was earlier, at the washing machine; and chickens for hours, and it almost seems going through my father is done.
Tell my group.
I'm compressing my obsession with his death?
I've written some lyrics, and I like to think there's some poetry to them, but that really is a seperate artform. Poetry is self contained.
Truth is, there's no market for poems anymore, unless they're illustrated and make children laugh. There's no profit to be found in making grown-ups think.
At least, that's the belief. I have no idea if there's any truth to it. But it's always felt like certain knowledge. If you want to make people think, you have to sneak up on them; bury your message in something palatable.
It bothers me how much commerce plays into my artistic decisions. I mean, I've never worked on something I don't believe in because it would sell, but I've certainly put aside projects because they wouldn't. It's like natural selection, but with the most unnatural factor determining what's fit.
So, poetry falls by the wayside.
** sigh **
It's just ironic that the computer is free to express itself in ways that I am not.