And good ‘ol Joe, he said “we should go!”, and write and design, and deliver our time. To create silly voices and pages of prose, “we must!”, he was heard, from young artists and painter to writers and sculptors and mechanics and doodlers. And where are we then, when our notebooks are filled, and our minds have been grilled, and distilled, and rebuilt? “we are artists!” we say, but we know we are lazy, and we hope we are dodging uncertainly hazy charades of old age. Yet deep down below, where the farmers are masons and the hands are aflutter, and far, far, away from the bustling of Twitter, “we are artists!”, we say, and we trudge on alright.