JUNE 18th - Write a Haiku (or Do you Think Will Smith is an alien?)

On this day in 1976, a Joseph Mallord William Turner watercolor was auctioned off for 340,000 pounds. I’m not British, or a mathematician, or an economist, but that seems like a pretty heavy chunk of silver to me. For reference’s sake it is the equivalent of $577,593.70. But that’s not accounting for inflation, meaning that some rich guy bought a painting from the early 1800’s in 1976 for approximately $2,406,522.46 today. That’s a heck of a lot of cheddar. But it also makes me wonder about who saw the majority of that half a million dollars. Turner wasn’t some struggling artist who died penniless, unknown, and alone only to be discovered years after his demise and crowned as a genius. He was extremely prolific and left a small fortune behind when he shuffled off this mortal coil. It also seems he had no immediate family, so J.M.W. Turner is not really helping me make my point. In fact using ole Joe as an example for my point is basically the equivalent of an alien ship abducting Shaquille O’ Neal as an average representative of the human race. But of course if aliens thought we were all 7’ 400lbs, they would arm themselves more heavily and then we would need to clone Will Smith a bunch of times, because although he is not 7’ 400lbs, he has more experience than anyone else saving the world from hostile aliens. Seriously how many movies about aliens has that dude made? Do you think he is an alien? But my actual point is that many artists and authors are not appreciated at all during their lifetime. Blake, Vermeer, Poe, Melville. They died poor and unknown. Van Gogh. His ear wasn’t the only thing missing when he kicked the bucket. Money and appreciation were nowhere to be found either. But then again, artists and authors (scientist and architects too some extent as well) are the only people who can become successful posthumously. Not something I would suggest as I would hope you get to enjoy the fruits of your labor while alive, but if you’re on deathbed and you’re worried your life was a horrible failure, jot down a Haiku. Maybe you’ll be immortalized. You never know. Sorry if I’m getting all depressing on a Hump Day. I don’t mean to be all doom and gloom. It all turned out fine for good ole Joe. But then he had four names. You can’t be a failure and have four names. It’s like the extra name has some inherent power of success. I have no idea if that is true or not. But I’m trying to be upbeat here. Four names. That’s just ridiculous. So maybe you should just write a Haiku.

Success is not
Measured for some, until
After they die.

Just in case.

This day has been Marked.

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