In my home town we live in three worlds. One is the polyanna world of advertising where everyone is chipper, living in up-scale homes, healthy and attractive, 2 parents (with white teeth). The second world is the world of catastrophe. We see the sea carrying off homes. And we know that there are people inside. Screaming their last screams. The third world is our day to day existence. Mostly mundane. Small treasures and tragedies. And then there are the arts. Who hardly know which world they belong. Paralyzed (intellectually) it seems to me, the chattel of the market place. Wanting so much to be labelled artist/poet/author. Wanting to be studied rather than read. Wanting to be hung in galleries rather than homes.

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