It’s hard for an artist not to think of success. Without envisioning success far down the line somewhere, he might not even begin to act upon his visions and dreams. Sitting in this cafe at 7 in the evening after a tiring day at work, what makes me think, out of nowhere, about the success of an artist? Maybe, somewhere within myself, I have this want to be an artist, and a successful one at that. But what is success for an artist? A better question would be, what is success for me? Well, what do I know about that. What do I know about anything. I have only failed. I have succeeded, yes, but only in the areas in which I never wanted to even step in, much rather succeed. But such has been my life. Oh how the time passes. The fucking time. Decades have passed in a blink, and I’m still nowhere. Being nowhere doesn’t bother me much though. People have reached somewhere only relatively. In the absolute sense, in this giant nothingness, we all are nowhere.
The waiter is looking at me since quite some time now. I haven’t ordered anything yet. Now, it’s 9:15 at night. I’ve been sitting here and thinking about all this since about two hours. Shit.
‘Listen, man. If you’ve got nothing to order, just get the hell outta here. What are you doing here sitting alone anyways?’ the waiter finally walked to me in disgust and asked hurriedly.
‘Alright. What should I have. What should I have. OK. One coffee, please’ I replied.
‘That is all?’ he asked
‘That will be all.’
– Tomic Riter. © All rights reserved.
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