Moves So Fast

We ran from the humidity, from the endless summer before us--> we ran right into the cold of Exit Thru the Gift Shop. The documentary was funny, excellent, and as we could have predicted, Banksy stole the show. Banksy is internationally revered for his clean graphics and mysterious dealings but I was drawn in by something else. Was it the quippy British remarks? The buttery voice? The casual lean back in the chair? I think I was crushing because I see Banksy as the embodiment of the true artist. He has an overwhelming compulsion to produce produce produce and he'll scale walls, unglue bricks, to satisfy the hunger. He's so hot (he was shrouded in black but intuition tells me) because he's working for his own satisfaction, for his own hunger. Call me naive, but I like to tell myself that pursuit of passion, following the flow if you will, leads to personal bliss and outward validation. Simply put: if you do what you want, and do it well, with some conviction, with a little sweat, you may just find yourself happy as a pig in shit. I'm counting on that but if I'm wrong, dear Banksy, if you want to pay me a visit, drop by with some stencils and snarky remarks, I'll put some coffee on and settle back in my chair.