Somewhere there's a balance between accepting and liking yourself and self awareness that allows you to see just exactly who you really are. You're perfect, you know. You're flawed, too. Nobody in the world's better than you. Or worse.
Joy is to be found in art. Not at the Louvre or MOMA. Open a jar of finger paint. Now, open another one. Money blurs the lines, obscures the beauty. You can paint, I can sing.
Seems I never made much of a Little Richard. That's alright, Bob Dylan never was much of a Woody Guthrie, either. I'm the world's best Ronny Elliott, though, and I'm not boasting.
If you're looking for heroes or a role model, let me suggest any bonobo or some anonymous Sufi poet. Study love, sing, paint and dance.
Give us peace on earth and end this dreadful, dreadful war. I remember, Grandma. I remember.
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