Number dictator

It seems the best way of coping is to shun money altogether. It is heartache. For me money stained my art practice with an embedded sense of loss. It was bankrupt only because of the expectation itself. It is a bottomless pit and a game of winners and losers. I have to work but I can handle that because I have the opportunity to. I don’t want money to come into my writing because I want to just write what I want. It is selfish but it is a price I can pay. I have seen street art turn into a money game and it has become lost in competition. Bigger bolder better. Forget culture. Forget thinking for yourself. I am crazy anyway so it is going to be on my terms. I will lose at the beginning and simply live with it. I lost at art anyway. Most of my expression has been free. It has been on the streets of Sydney for decades. It strives for expression at all costs. People do appreciate it and it is theirs as much as mine. People can have it and keep their money. It is for the sake of culture itself. The mighty dollar, number dictator. Money is being funnelled into companies, they grow and leave nothing behind but low wages. They buy up everything, divide and conquer. There will be nothing left but hopes and fears.

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