after another birthday

My friend Bwizz always thinks that every time a birthday of mine comes around, I see it as an opportunity to start something – a project, an adventerous piece of writing, ect – to convince myself that I am doing something that gives me some relevance to my existence and ambitions.

He would be slightly correct.

Today as I researched the many amazing museum institistions of NYC’s artworld, i learnt that most directors are either VERY VERY VERY Rich or excessively well educated with the help of daddy’s $$$ funds.

Why can’t someone whom has worked from the ground up gain a position in being the Whitney director or something.  I’d love to apply for the Independant Study Program, but read an article insinuating that now they pretty much only accept professionalized artists with great connections.

I applied for the Skowhegan Residency Program last year and failed to get it ( 100% not surprising) but now feel on a mission in order to get accepted.  There’s a billion books that I wanna read but too much work, and too much procasinating and people’s birthdays have all taken their toll on my productivity.  I feel so anxious writing this. I feel actually physically sick from the fear of  mediocre, of being nothing. All my life I have been no one. And I continue to stumble around the pripheries of the artworld trying grapple with what it means to me , to do what i love, and how on earth do i get into a reasonable position within?

I have no fucking idea, still. Other than – money – a good college name on your degree – and some well known people is probably the key. All of which i don’t have.

So instead, as a personal protest, I am going to watch American Idol. Isn’t that how they keep the disillusioned masses semi happy?


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