anonymous
We’re All Just A Little Bit Pretentious

by an anonymous and angsty writer

In a world where every word is judged,
taken a scalpel to, and dissected until the meaning is irrelevant
but political correctness is key,
molding the world into a monotonous lifestyle,
where words are bland, 
dripping with the dull that is the day to day deluge of “damn I wish I had taken a chance,”
exists a group of individuals, 
the auteurs of culture,
resenting the very thing that is art,
and taking away all interpretations but their own, 
leaving my life dry and lonely, 
missing the moisture that was the long awaited public response to my work. 

Why would an artist,
an human being,
anyone,
submit herself to the euthanasia that is critical analysis,
a form of spitting the remnants of last nights dinner, 
which have long gone rotten in the dewy, hellish, humid heat of an angry night,
in the face of a representative of the freedom of expression? 

“Leave me be,” 
is all I can cry, 
hoping that the oversized and overpowering fans of censorship 
will not carry my words away on the wind 
as I run after them, 
hoping to seize on to the “m” and be carried off to a better place. 

But alas,
I am left to deal with the shit of humanity, 
the pungent aroma that is secreting through the pores of every opponent of art, 
of life,
of the “my country ‘tis of thee” way of being. 
And whilst I deal, 
they sit in their penthouse flats
swishing their glasses of Crystal
as they speak of the sensitivities of smart senators amongst
their smarmy swarms of social superiors.


anonymous
2/24/2008
06:06:00 PM