this morning #1380.

this morning, popular opinion around these parts was that my art was starting to suffer. one particular bitter critic didn’t mince a single word in his review of my latest exhibition. “it’s a crying shame the futile way that he’s still searching for the energy he had back in his heyday.” it’s an odd thing for him to say about my current work. his criticism leads me to believe that he’s also searching for my heyday. is he not? sorry, sir. i’m no longer a naive, twenty-something college dropout riding his rage to fame. i’m a middle-aged man who’s lived a lot of life already. i’ve learned how to control that rage, channel it into a different sort of energy. something stripped of anger but still replete with danger.