No Time No Way

I know what it’s like to have something creative inside and not be able to get it out.

Something like a song, a play, a sculpture, a comedy routine, a story.

You know it’s in there, you think maybe it’s “good,” you don’t know how good, but you know you’ve got it. You nurture it inside and it becomes who you are, secretly. You show a little of it sometimes, and that leads to your family and all your friends saying things like “That’s as good as anything on Broadway/TV/the radio/CD’s. You should write/sing/perform more. Go for it!!”

You’re momentarily flattered, but after all it’s your family and friends and they are obviously (and rightly) biased and might not be telling you the truth and they might not be qualified to judge such things anyway, so of course you don’t go for it, because you have to clean the garage, take out the garbage, work for a living (or find a job), get some food, score some drugs, find someone who’ll do you, and so on. There’s no TIME.

But there is time, and time goes on, and one day you look around and half your friends are drifting away in one way or another, and among the other half, half don’t want to know you any more and the other half are dead or as good as, and how long do you think you have remaining to produce anything worthwhile? You don’t know, so you promise yourself you’re going to buckle down and do something, create something while you’ve still got a chance, and by now you don’t even care if anybody likes it or if it gets on Broadway/TV/the radio/CD’s, because it’s like you’ve been pregnant longer than an elephant and it’s about god damned time for the blessed event!

You know what I mean?

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