Spent his life exposing anyone he could to his art, until he went broke and died from doing it.
Worth every damn minute and every single penny. There’s no Nothing better. And if there was, no one could afford it.
So what’s the point of worrying about that? All that does is pay for a bigger stone to chisel words into like this, so people you don’t know or who don’t really remember what you were like most of the time, can read about you when you’re dead, in one of the few places on earth you can still go and find a little quiet.
And even then, somebody or something is always singing.
19 APR 2025
© 2025, John Litzenberg. All rights reserved.
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