Burn, baby; burn!

The ones who feel – perhaps too much – burn faster, and deeper, than the rest. They are called artists but, in fact, they (we) should be called open hearts. Or wounds. Or both.

You don´t choose this fate – you´re born with it. I´ve often said: it´s a gift and a heavy weight to be carried around. Many artists succumb – they can´t handle the weight of their own fire. Most try to manage.

I know there´s no Art, or Love, without it – this fire. I´ll keep burning (no choice, baby!), hoping I´ll be strong enough to rise, again and again, from the ashes.

Some times, when exhaustion and the pain of the world hits me too hard, I wish to become insensitive, adaptable, practicle, sensible, cold. Yes, cold. Cold is cool – unblemished appearances , ironed hair and spotless shirt. I even wish to settle for less than greatness – greatness is experience, you know? – but then I remember what the fire feels like. So warm, so alive, so worth it.

*

Above, in the video: me and my orchestra, in Cairo, Egypt, burning to ashes.

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