Letter to a Failed Artist

Dear X

We have studied your case with the utmost attention and reached the conclusion that you are right: your presence in this world it’s no longer necessary. You have no love, children or a dog to bark your absence.

You have no job, and your dreams of perfecting yourself in the art of painting have hit the rocks due to the price of materials. We are aware that food comes before Art if you want to keep on breathing, and although we sympathise we can see that daubing the walls in tomato juice won’t take you very far.

We understand that the act of praying for help has become pathetic to you. You see, we don’t help anyone to win the lottery or put a lover on their doorstep. We don’t get involved with your life and the decisions you make are only your affair. The most we can do is to give you strength to keep on going or seep some inspiration into your head if, for a moment, you put all those negative thoughts, which prevent the moving in of more profitable ones, to one side.

We know you have tried everything, and that there are things in your past determining the way you confront reality. It was not our business then and it is not our business now.

As we said, you are the master of your destiny, the one who decides; therefore we leave to you the way you choose to terminate your contract with this plane.

If you get scared and cower we can send you an unexpected accident by inspiring some other desperado near you. There are plenty.

Something clean and fast, since iit is obvious to us that your suffering is of no benefit to others either.

Hoping to see you soon

McFate. 

(Signature borrowed from Vladimir Nabokov)

OH

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