Some Literature.

I somehow must prove to myself that I am creative. I have been creative in the past, and hopefully I will one day be creative again. The problem is I'm not exactly sure how to go about doing so. A mere poem won't cut it. Neither will a half-baked short story. I can't draw so a drawing of some sort is out the window. I can't play an instrument or carry a tune so a song is completely out of the question. Interpretive dance is an interesting idea but I am as limber as I am graceful.

Boy these doors sure do shut quickly don't they.

Clothing design is intriguing as it usually leads to a glamorous lifestyle where plastic women and exclusive parties are run-of-the-mill. But alas, my ability to express myself through fashion is average at best. Photography is an obvious choice, but it has become too common and accessible. Take a digital camera to Rio De Janeiro and you have yourself a coffee table book.

Filmmaking, which is by far the most visible of all current art forms is way too daunting. If I were to make a movie I would have to write, photograph, dance, sing and sew. I'll leave that one to whiskey-swilling cowboys and confused kids from the Bronx.

I guess I'm left with only a handful of options, most of which will get me little if no publicity. Papier mache could be fun but from what i understand it gets quite messy and I live with my parents; best to avoid unnecessary conflict. I could maybe delee into the world of installation art, perhaps by tacking a lock of my mother's hair onto a wall painted in cow's blood, but I risk crossing that thin line of pretentiousness that art school so vehemently told me to avoid.

Crocheting is for grannies and finger painting is for babies. Graffiti is for hustlers, and hairdressing is for gays. Jewelry-making is for Peruvians and silkscreening is for hipsters.
I am a lacklustre suburbanite with mediocre social skills, a penchant for drinking too much, and pining after things I can't have.

I got it!

I'll start a blog.