I have hit a wall. A big flu virus shaped wall.
This happens to everyone, I guess. I just can’t seem to sleep, and when I can’t sleep, my mind goes all kinds of strange places.
I keep thinking of all the people that were forced into my life against my better judgement only to slither out of it after injecting some poison into me (just like I always had a feeling they would). It’s not nice to feel like the world is out to get anyone with the slightest bit of enthusiasm.
I wonder if those people know that my poor broken brain can’t help but obsess over every occurance, replaying it over and over until I want to bang my head against the walls. They probably don’t. They are probably just going on with their lives, living as if they are the only ones that exist.
Which, as explained by Decartes, is the only thing we can be sure of. So I can’t really blame the world for not knowing the next part where he goes on to explain that we should all be rational and nice to everybody.
We’re in more of a Hobbes era anyways.
So, my creativity is on a down swing. As, I think, happens to most creative people. Creativity has a tendancy to ebb and flow just like life and most natural things do, I think.
Last night, as I was going to bed I decided to be honest. It’s always been a silly pet project of my own, that honesty thing. Honesty doesn’t really have anything to do with art (I guess you could consider it performance art).
Art is communication, sure, but let’s face it, if we really wanted to to be honest with people, we’d tell them instead of turning it into an allegorical painting.
However, as an artist I believe that every once in a while it’s nice to come clean and state, for the record, that you occasionally worry about things.
Occasionally I dishonestly attempt to squeeze sarcasm and humour out of the fact that I have a pretty good chance of dying someday soon.
Not “in a sense everyone dies eventually” dying.
My neurologist believes I have cancer dying.
As much as I am funny and find the world humorous most of the time, occasionally I am serious. Occasionally I lie awake at night wondering about all the stupid people and the dumb things they do. It bugs me. It makes me worry. It makes me anxious. It makes me want to curl up under my bed, on top of luggage, with my cat, and get Liam to occasionally place a tray of sandwiches within a reachable distance.
This is what life is from time to time.
Particularily when I don’t feel well.