What The Artist Owes The World Is

What The Artist Owes The World Is His Work; Not A Model For Living.

The Writers Job Is To Get Naked, To Hide Nothing. To Look Away From Nothing. To Look At It. To Not Blink. To Be Not Embarrassed Or Shamed Of It. Strip It Down And Lets Get Down To Where The Blood Is, The Bone Is. Instead Of Hiding It With Clothes And All Kinds Of Other Stuff, Luxury!

There Is Something Beautiful About All Scars Of Whatever Nature. A Scar Means The Hurt Is Over, The Wound Is Closed And Healed, Done With.

I Never Wanted To Be Well-rounded. I Do Not Admire Well-rounded People Nor Their Work. So Far As I Can See, Nothing Good In The World Has Ever Been Done By Well-rounded People. The Good Work Is Done By People With Jagged, Broken Edges, Because Those Edges Cut Things And Leave An Imprint, A Design.

Hell Came Right Along With God, Hand In Hand. The Stink Of Sulfur Swirled In The Air Of The Church, Fire Burned In The Aisles, And Brimstone Rained Out Of The Rafters. From The Evangelist's Oven Mouth Spewed Images Of A Place With Pitchforks, And Devils, And Lakes Of Fire That Burned Forever. God Had Fixed A Place Like That Because He Loved Us So Much.