September 16th, 2004

moody bitch

Committing an Act of Heresy.

I'm going to drop the bomb... The bomb being, well...

I've never liked the Ramones. Still don't. Really.

No, Really.

Sure, I tap my foot when I hear it, but I've never been truly "down".

I'm sorry some people died young, but I can't get worked up over their irrelevant adolescent pop tunes.

RIP to the fallen "tuhhhhwenny-twenny-twenny-four hours to go-oh-oh" Ramones, and best wishes to the remaining Ramone, but i'm still not a fan.


Of course you know this, but, I still like you if you luv the Ramones, so don't be hatin' on my blasphemous bombastic band-bashing. hugs! kisses!
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Hm (edit)

I love the fact that many people define their innermost selves, their core beliefs, the most sacred and profound parts of themselves, by other people's creations.

Largely it's the music, and the books, movies, plays, comics, painters and designers. People get passionate about "their music", or musicians they enjoy. At once protective and defensive, as if the songs they enjoy were their own creations, their work. De gustibus non est disputandum.

And yet, with all this passion for their work, Artists are constantly struggling. Grappling with the image/word/chord/etc, struggling for recognition, struggling against society and struggling amongst themselves. "Artist" is not an acceptable career. I hesitate when asked "What do you do?" because people who call themselves Artists are seen as irresponsible, mentally disturbed flakes. Stigmatized and lauded in the same breath.

Think about that.

How do you define yourself? How do you define Art? What is your passion? Are you working on something you care deeply about? If not, why not?
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