There are many ways one can hurt. Scars are not the only impact. A gash across the flesh, skin, burnt, perhaps boiled. Scars of the mind will suffice for some. A word can cut just as well as any knife.
Such is an issue with self-appointed martyrs. They dive into the pain with open arms. The hurt is like an old friend. A warm embrace. A calmness. To hurt means for things to be as they always have been. It means for things to be right. The status quo, once again, restored.
Perhaps it is cowardice to sink back into the mud. A refusal to admit that there is responsibility on one’s shoulders. That, if they themselves are not dark, it is on them not to act as such. Or, perhaps, it is fear. Of change, of light, of good. Of one’s own soul.
I do not mean to meander on the point, but it is a gnawing hatred. A warm blanket made of teeth.
Truly, the worst critic is yourself.
Art of London
News of Art, Art of News
Famous Artist’s Last Performance? A Challenge Of Life And Death
In the latest news of the art world, the Renowned Performer faced accusations from one V. S____, a critic of some acceptance. S____, in his latest review of the Performer’s work, called it, to quote:
“Uninspired, a blasphemy of sight and sound, outrageous and outrageously dull to boot. A man so lacking in soul and virtue is fit more for the circus than the gentle arts.”
While we could write litanies on each word of such a claim, the Performer himself has responded with a less than expected act – he has challenged S____ to a duel of the Black Ribbon. We need not remind, if only for dramatic effect, that it is a duel to true death, as is common both in the high echelons and in the artistic circles.
S____ has, graciously, accepted, throwing a velvet glove into a well of blue hue.
The duel is to be in a fortnight, and we shall waste no time in bringing you the news of such occasion.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
I am so very, very tired.
T. J. W.
Dear T. J. W.,
There is a strong sense of deja vu.