RailMouth

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And since I was feeling in need of answers I just went right up and asked him, I said, Will Bonnie Prince, Palace or whatever "What do you think about it? Is it worth being an artist or an indie-rock star, or are you better off without it?" Cause I mean maybe the world would be better if we were all just uncreative drones, No dead child, hood dreams to haunt us, a decent job, a decent home, And if we have some extra time we could do real things to promote peace, Become scientists or history teachers or un-corrupt police at least, "Come on Will, you gotta tell me!!" I grabbed and shook him by the arm, The L train was leaning Bedford with 10,000 white 20 somethings crowed on. He opened his mouth to speak but it was lost in the rumbling of the wheels. We were thrown together in a corner and I yelled "Tell me, man, for real!" You're living comfortably, I assume, even if you're not quite a household name. You've reached a pretty high level of success & critical acclaim. The L train got to first avenue and a bunch of people piled out. I was starring into his sunglasses and I was really freakin' out i was like, Steamboat Willie Bonnie Prince of all this shit, you're like the king of a certain genre But even you must want to quit like if you hear a record by Bob Dylan or Neil Young or whatever. You must start thinkin' "People like me, but i won't be that good ever". And I'm sure the thing is probably Dylan himself too stayed up some nights. Wishing he was as good as Ginsberg or Camus. And he was like "Dude, I'm such a faker, I'm just a clown who entertains and these fools who pay for my crap, they just have pathetic punny brains and Camus probably wished he was Milton too or whatever, you know what i'm sayin'?!"
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(Williamsburg Will Oldham horror by Jeffrey Lewis)