The more poor I get and the better I get at being poor, the more I reevaluate what's valuable to me. Health, peace of mine, that of my family's...gas and cigarettes.
The holes in my socks are okay cuz no one sees them.
The fact that dinner and a movie are no longer on the table because chicken broth and pasta are cheap (and the internet) is just fine.
Phone bill is a priority cuz my friends and family rule.
New paints? Nah, I've got some old weird colors I can use.
New canvas? Nah, just paint over some old shit.
$50 has more use and I can now make a penny talk, Grandma.
I have love from my Babeduder that keeps my fires stoked and lit, the support of far away hands, trust in the universe that it'll work out, and half a pack of smokes that feel like gold in my glovebox.
But lest we forget:
where i'll post the in's, out's, tween's, and twixt's of my world of art mixed with pictures, links, opinions, and rants. (oh, and curse words. lots of curse words)