Diary of a Young Artist
Avatar 10, p. 10
Mirror: March 24, 1962, North Carolina

Late winter, 1961, No. Carolina

You know, I really do sometimes try to fight my mind and instincts and do what seems best for my family but these are my most miserable moments and I just don't know if these constructive actions I can undertake are good for us or not when my mind doesn't go along with them. You know I'm really tired of fighting with my self but I'm just as tired of half-feeding and half-clothing my family and 1 don't want pity or charity or publicity. Dammit I just can't seem to really find my groove. Often I think that if me and family spent our lives going from town to town in a big bus with beds and records and instruments and working here and there and always ready to move on it would be the ultimate. I don't mind hard work at all but after awhile it gets a little repetitious and monotonous and I want to move on. I hate compulsory labor, especially when I'm still only barely scratching out a living and it's taking time away from my music. God, when I have a creative urge going and I have to leave it to go out and do some kind of menial labor for a few pennies life seems so meaningless that I don't care to go on. It's like being forced to murder someone you love to pay the rent. It eats me up inside. I don't want to do it. It fills me full of hate and poison and mainly, it destroys my God-given talents. Dammit, any fool can swing an axe but only a very few can actually sit down and create something beautiful. Every day, more and more, my talents are coming forth and blossoming and I want to use them, pick the flower before it wilts...

Let personalities change as colors change in nature, as colors blend in nature. Let them mix of their own free will or God's will. Why do people cheer on finding four leaf clovers in nature and stamp them out in humanity. Let brotherly love and natural beauty exist on the same plane. Let things parallel that yearn to parallel. Life is a stream, flowing from that first drop of moisture that fell from the sky through a million rises and falls and twists and struggles to the sea where it begins anew. Try to alter that stream, and you get chaos, erosion, floods, drought, death. If God so saw it for me to be a small trickle in the sunshine running amidst a network of large rivers but never flowing into them and making my own hazardous journey to the sea then let me be. Don't alter my course and force me to be swallowed up into the slow, monotonous, never varying currents of a vast muddy river. Not yet, not until I'm ready.