She is not “my girl.”
She belongs to herself, and to all of the world. And I am blessed, for with all her freedom, she still comes back to me, moment-to-moment, day-by-day, and night-by-night.
How much more blessed can I be?"
When did we become so small and so apologetic? Why do we apologize for our humanity? Love what you love, and make no apologies. This is your identity. The most horrendous suspensions of freedom are self-imposed. We imprison ourselves daily, hourly.
We have one life, one shot at all the glorious things of life, and we walk about constricted, apologetic, afraid. We have so little time; we have so little space upon which to spread our love and our talents and our kindness. Run toward life fulsomely and freely.
It runs from us so quickly, like a frightened dog or youth or daylight. Chase it and care for it.
Of course art should be about something big. Something terribly big must be at stake. I don’t see this anymore. Our art is becoming terribly polite and apologetic, much like us. It slinks away like a sagging breast, empty of milk or promise or comfort.
We need to get very fervent again. We need to get jacked up."