Went looking for inspiration in the cracks of the sidewalk again. I can only hope something seeps in through osmosis as I walk about the people, the proverbial 'people'. Good to know, for better and worse, that i can still walk through streets and get mean-mugged and glared at. I'm fairly certain it's cuz i'm so pretty.
Shit, I don't even know anymore what kind of neighborhood I would live in if money and housing crisis was inconsequential. There are definitely certain amenities I appreciate yet more and more I hate the scene that accompanies said amenities.
Basically I want to be special, I want to have street cred. But real street cred, I want to make shit that speaks to fathers, mothers, teachers, bodega owners, teenagers, psp players, thug wannabe's, whatever. That's idealistic. Reality dictates that I want hipsters, artists, and yuppies to feel my shit so I can make connections and make people buy shit I make.
Basically I perpetually live in a non-hip to eternally transitioning neighborhood wherever I lay my hat, mentally and physically.
and I babble.
cheers.