I hate it. I hate it when folks start talking to me about “retirement”. I detest that word. It is euphuism for ‘OK you old fart go away and die, and make it quick. You and your sorry useless ass is costing us; everyone, the hood, the country, the world. And most of all the family, their valuable time, resources and most especially their hard earned money. The precious money that we just don’t have to waste on you wretched and demented carcass. So be done with it quick, retire and die!’
But they won’t let it go. I’ll be gone soon enough! When I insists that if I stop what I love doing that I will die. They will tell me ‘stop it anyway. You know that it has always annoyed us, your stupid and indulgent artista pendejadas’. That is the point I say, art keeps me alive. Loco pendejo! They respond, enraged that I am so broke, slow witted and not quite dead, yet I continue to try to create. Yeah, moron we want you to die. We never knew what the hell you were doing anyway. And now all you are is old, stubborn, and forgetful. Always into your stupid writings that no one reads. No one cares old man, and you have not made one penny from your ‘art’. Never, not a single penny, ever from your art!
