Is this my life? Is this what I am to be? all that work growing up, all the pain to grow into something unique and rare, and how do I spend it. . . sick. Only particially physically ill and a large part mentally. the pain creates scars and scars cover the beauty of that rare specimen. What was it about "rare specimen" that sounded attractive? what was it that makes people long to be that; alone, unique, mysterious (aka misunderstood). is it the beauty of art that can come from pain? is that what I asked for? if it is, have i found it? Is this where it leads. . . here? and if this is where it leads, is this all it becomes? Is this simplistic glimpse of my soul the only artistic beauty to come from it? Is it beautiful or it is just pain that others recongnize in themselves or project themselves upon?
Tuesday, October 07, 2003