Overdose?

Did that eightball help me create something I loved? YES. Did I love it because I was high on cocaine? PROBABLY! Does it matter? Nah. 

It also didn’t ruin my life or send me on a bender. I’ve used one eightball since, maintained work, created art, not gone broke, and not lost my mind.  I’m keeping it in check this time.  

Dying from an overdose, by the way (which is basically impossible if I keep only buying 3.5 ounces at a time), would not be the worst way to go.  It beats chemotherapy, radiation, hospital stays, hospice, being bathed and ignored, etc. 

I can think of literally no legitimate reason to stop using, because that it feels like I should stop (societal pressure) and I wouldn’t want my sister to find out.

Oh and painting while high feels great. Did I already say that? I have so much more confidence, clarity, vision. I know what I want the final product to look like, I know the process of getting it there, and I’m always happy with it when it’s finished. I don’t know what I was thinking with the charcoal, the paints give such a more vivid picture. I’m saving them all up to give to that kid – he really showed me how much more I should do what I want to do. 

I’m an artist. I’m an artist. It takes a lot to get to a place where you can claim to be a THING and not feel silly about it. What makes me an artist? The act of creating art or the idea of supporting myself based on the creation of art? The latter definitely does not apply to my current situation. But if nobody acknowledged themselves as an artist, we wouldn’t have any art?

Does that make logic sense?

I’m an artist-guy. I’m an adventure-guy. I’m a drug-user guy.  I’m a bastard-guy. I’m a brother-guy. I’m an artist-guy. I’m whatever I am a the time I’m claiming to be a thing. Does it have to sustain?


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