you cant go home

I am a firm believer that an artist cannot return to his hometown. To return to the womb of where you grew up is to neuter the psychic energy from where your art and life and fire flows. The umbilical cord slowly wraps the spirit and like a boa constrictor chokes away the life. Friends and family mean well and they love you but kindness can kill as easily as poison. safety and security are glue traps and life becomes a slow and protracted ordeal and dreams wither in the light of some suburban womb. A piece of ground in your hometown looks a lot like a burial plot. I cant stomach to see the faces of those "who stayed" nothing ventured, nothing gained and life becomes a zero sum game. I got out young and fought like hell to never get sucked back in. Watered yards and firemans fairs and bbq's and vacant stares and shopping malls and golf and prayers and sports bars and hybrid cars and broken homes and construcrion zones you cant go home.