070525-02

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I find myself in the brink of insanity, the exhausting pursuit to create. Swimming in the sunken dunes of ideation, spun around and confused, caught up by the occasional whirlpool of an interesting thought. This dessert rich with spark and trickery, drowns you in its fruit. The impact from each grain of sand on the skin grinds down and erodes even the most hopeful young artist’s soul. It is this constant wear and tear, the feeling of leaving parts of who you thought you were behind, a feeling worse than being alone, a self deceptive act of hope, a poison to the heart, is the artist’s kryptonite. Death.

Or is it just a matter of perspective?

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070525-02

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