NOMAN, HARBINGER OF TRUTH
Last night I was feeling uninspired. Noman had posed some legitimate questions on my philosophic stance. Sure, some people seemed to like my music, but far more didn't. If I ignore the people who don't like my music, what basis do I have for giving credence to anyone who does like it? Only about 500 people hear anything I do of value, while several billion are blasé or outright hostile. I must live in a hole. Noman is looking over the edge and making faces.
I asked Roman if he would pose. Drawing calms me. He agreed. The result was horrible. Instead of Roman, some horrible lion appeared on the page. That was not what I wanted to see. I think I might have drawn an older, angry Noman.
Roman, always the sane one, went to a cabinet, fumbled around for a moment, and pulled out a glass tree ornament. "Draw this," he said, tossing the fragile bauble across the room.
I slept soundly last night.
I asked Roman if he would pose. Drawing calms me. He agreed. The result was horrible. Instead of Roman, some horrible lion appeared on the page. That was not what I wanted to see. I think I might have drawn an older, angry Noman.
Roman, always the sane one, went to a cabinet, fumbled around for a moment, and pulled out a glass tree ornament. "Draw this," he said, tossing the fragile bauble across the room.
I slept soundly last night.
