If you ask a star how he became a star…
he would say by getting virgin before every great fuck,
at least if he is a honest soul.
Poet’s are no star, painter’s are no star, amateur drinkers are no star…
But they can make a star out of a cobbler or a millionaire,
that’s the beauty of art, sex and alcohol…
They don’t discriminate their preys.
For me in a way I have always been virgin…and I think I always will be,
and in abundance I think myself as a poet.
That’s tough…cause people don’t like printed words,
they go after spoken ones…they believe in oratory…they believe in visualization of an arrow hitting a frightened deer.
Words always come when you stop looking for them,
there’s poetry in everything, there’s music in everything and there’s art even in people’s despair,
but most of us who fall for the incantation of words don’t know when to stop, when not to create anything.
Most of the times I get overwhelmed from the possible outcomes of a poem,
it stops there…I could never write ocean being in front of it’s spitting waves.
So have a lot of sex but remain virgin for all of your life…
Nothing gets simple by doing it over and over again…rather it gets dull and hopelessly complicated.
And two things, liberation and creativity never comes out of dull and complicated inspirations.