I dream.
I dream vividly.
I nearly always remember my dreams. Always have.
I've been super confronted with my life and career lately. Am I any good at this clown thing? Am I deserving of the praise I receive?
No.
I'm being interviewed soon by a reporter from a major publication. I'm confronted. He's asking me a lot of questions I don't feel worthy. I can name 5 guys that are more interesting than me.
But I'm the one he's interested in. I don't understand. The more questions he asks, the more I feel like a failure as an artist. Even that name "artist" makes me bristle. I'm no more of an artist than the guy delivering mail. I am a guy with a job. A job that I can't escape.
Last night, I had a dream. I was a correspondent on the Jon Stewart show. A show I adore, watch nightly. The combination of Jon Stewart leaving and me feeling like dung about my own talents must have caused my night.
I had a dream I was a correspondent on the Daly Show as a clown. It made so much sense. I did the set up interviews as "Nasty Ass the Clown" my alter ego clown character. I did the desk interview with Jon as Nasty Ass and made fun of politics.
My segments were funny and hard hitting. I woke in the middle of the dream and was confused for a second why I was in bed. It felt so real, like I shouldn't be here. I'm supposed to be in New York.
I tried to get back to sleep so I could be on the show again.
Instead. I dreamt of my son going to college, my car breaking, my visa bill. Things that I'm worried about right now. I like the first dream way more.
I often wonder what my one dream would be. If I could have anything? For one REM cycle I was perfectly at home. Fulfilled as an artist.
I dream vividly.
I nearly always remember my dreams. Always have.
I've been super confronted with my life and career lately. Am I any good at this clown thing? Am I deserving of the praise I receive?
No.
I'm being interviewed soon by a reporter from a major publication. I'm confronted. He's asking me a lot of questions I don't feel worthy. I can name 5 guys that are more interesting than me.
But I'm the one he's interested in. I don't understand. The more questions he asks, the more I feel like a failure as an artist. Even that name "artist" makes me bristle. I'm no more of an artist than the guy delivering mail. I am a guy with a job. A job that I can't escape.
Last night, I had a dream. I was a correspondent on the Jon Stewart show. A show I adore, watch nightly. The combination of Jon Stewart leaving and me feeling like dung about my own talents must have caused my night.
I had a dream I was a correspondent on the Daly Show as a clown. It made so much sense. I did the set up interviews as "Nasty Ass the Clown" my alter ego clown character. I did the desk interview with Jon as Nasty Ass and made fun of politics.
My segments were funny and hard hitting. I woke in the middle of the dream and was confused for a second why I was in bed. It felt so real, like I shouldn't be here. I'm supposed to be in New York.
I tried to get back to sleep so I could be on the show again.
Instead. I dreamt of my son going to college, my car breaking, my visa bill. Things that I'm worried about right now. I like the first dream way more.
I often wonder what my one dream would be. If I could have anything? For one REM cycle I was perfectly at home. Fulfilled as an artist.
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