“Emory is a fantasy fiction writer and likes to think he’s a big deal. He needs sleep and wishes he liked coffee.”
“I Wrote This in an Art Museum”
I hate art.
I hate that this stuff counts as art.
I hate that someone spent any number of hours making stupid, beautiful art.
I hate the monochrome, I hate the ingenious composition
I hate the use of negative space
I hate that you can just hang a scrawly letter
with probably thousands of likenesses across the country on the wall and call it art
and it’s so goddamn powerful I feel like crying
I hate that these pictures of a life I’ve never lived
are making me feel something, I hate
that they remind me of how I’m never hot or tired
or wanting when I’m toiling in my garden
I hate that the Mona Lisa is worth millions of dollars
and sees millions of visitors
but these paintings, these photos, that stirred up more emotions in me
than every reprint, every article of the Mona Lisa
ever did or ever could
will probably just die here.
I hate that I’m compelled
to keep making art
when I know that there’s so much art that lives poorly
I hate that I won’t get to see
every expression, every word that my art has elicited
or dampened, or resurrected
I hate loving art,
I just can’t stand it.
The bed of the truck is hard and cold
The stars are gazing back at us,
close and far away and it’s making me homesick
for somewhere I’ve never been
for someone I never got to kiss
I’m trying to pretend I’m satiated
just looking and never touching.
My body is a temple.
I am made of clay, and I am made of willpower
I am showered with love every day
because there are people who suffered to build me
and they should be proud of that.
There is a god in this temple
and he sleeps, and he does not hear your prayers
And he will not hear your woes or your grace or your weeps
Because he did not ask for this temple
I mean, please, by all means, worship me
But so what if you toiled, so what if
his name brings your life and your soul restoration
These symbols are holding him hostage
His name has been lost in translation
Why are you more worried about the temple
than the deity?