Bleakly banal bandwagons beckon. How easily Narcissus-X could step, step, step, step up to the side: climb in and be carted away. Lovely lucre.
But no! Narcissus-X is artist. Not for Narcissus-X the tawdry trappings of crass commercialism. To be constrained? To be directed? To daub and draft and draw in dreary, dismal, debilitating drudgery? No!
Narcissus-X is artist. Narcissus-X creates. Narcissus-X perceives, ponders, weaves dark threads among the gray.
Narcissus-X, paid for putting paltry pablum before the masses? Ha! No such demeaning insult will Narcissus-X heap upon Narcissus-X. For Narcissus-X is artist. And art must be sustained.
2 comments:
I find this really interesting. Is there any deeper purport?
Renée,
Is there any deeper purport?
I rather doubt it. The (fictional) Narcissus-X takes himself very, very seriously - but I don't particularly.
I do, however, occasionally allow myself to vent feelings from the silly side of my mind, through this blog.
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