Sometimes the blocks we face are just old stories asking to be forgiven. New pod with Donna De Lory @josepharthurofficial

Uploaded November 2025 | Updated September 2026, 3 days ago

Sometimes the blocks we face are just old stories asking to be forgiven. New pod with Donna De Lory

Perfectionism Is the Enemy of Artists (w/ Gary Go)

A poem on GRIT. Black eye wink. Don’t overthink.

THE ATTENTION WAR Full Chapter Drops Today

What Bob Dylan and Lou Reed Knew About Being Hated

Wrote these lines in a cold plunge. All that’s left is GRATITUDE when you’re freezing

$The Man With The Cabbage Head (For Serge Gainsbourg) The man with the cabbage head We visited Serge Gainsbourg’s house in Paris And listened to his daughter explain The make up of his fractured life The black walls The black piano And the black halls Claustrophobic and covered in Felt We were led to his master bedroom The black sheets on a king sized bed With black pillows And Polaroids of a scattered woman Bound in rope The muse and the man with the cabbage head We were told about his death How he was discovered there in a cold skin morning The mask having finally won The leg sticking out The heart stopped And history blooming in a canyon of onlookers As the dysfunction of his life Becomes idle fodder for Sunday afternoon at the museum Most of us are just forgotten And maybe that’s better than being a morbid curiosity (or celebrated hero) Maybe not But as a trade for a life of eternal grace and love It’s one helluva booby prize Serge said when he became famous He put a mask on and finally the mask took over Or to put it another way If the ego is validated by the world If you get to be Elvis If you get to be serge If you get to be Kurt If you get to be Janis The world is giving the enemy within permission to turn your head into cabbage We are only really gifted when the false self is devastated And can no longer present an identity to the world The cabbage head becomes a God head We are graced into the eternal now And we don’t serve some illusion we are pretending to be No matter how glamorous or sexy we think it is Instead we serve the moment We avoid the club We get up before our children And we get born again into new skin And new possibilities But God forbid you become a cultural icon In a dark room With cigarettes and a piano Badges and bullets Antique dolls And stories From your children about your disappearance in the night When she told the story of your exit I saw your spirit appear behind me And then walk across the room The man with the cabbage head Lost in a permanent splendor Glamorous and sad Whispering through wilting lips “You still have a chance.” Josepharthur.com for more art and music$