I began to open up to Pat about how frustrating it was to be an artist currently, now not only in the ashed over wasteland of Silicon Valley, but San Fran Fucking Cisco nonetheless, where creativity has been put in a chokehold by both greedy politicians and the arcade button penis billionaires who love them so. I often squint my eyes and indulge in visions of cartoonishly evil startup CEOs dressed in flannel and boating shoes, kicking dirt in the faces of minorities, handing them eviction notices and then burning them alive in houses they've lived in their entire lives when they refuse to leave.
I lamented to him that I was tired of grinding out shit job after shit job. I was tired of being a slave to the rich, seeing douchebags shop for Nest Cams in corporate t shirts and $500 haircuts. (yo Nest cam, hook me up with free SHIIIIIIIT)
I was tired of being marginalized like the rest of my creative class, and I confessed to him how badly I just wanted to sell out and feel "secure" and be "one of them"..... But that every waking free moment I still asked myself if I wanted to keep making art even though I will probably never truly feel like I'd "made it". The answer is rhetorical, because the answer was, and still always is, FUCK yeah.
Pat took this all in, chuckled, and looked me square in the eye, with a twinkle and a lifetime of paid dues, and warmly assured me.....
"I tell you what, Jon. You're basically screwed. Whether you've chosen the life of artist, or the art came and chose you, NOTHING in this life will EVER feel satisfying to you except for your art.
