When people meet me, I’m like
But when they get to know me, I’m like
I really admire real artists. I’m alright at art, but I spend a lot of sleepless nights wishing I was a real artist. There have been a few respectable artists who have told me i’m more than that, but i’m really just someone who would rather be better than what I am. What am I.. A doubter and disliker. I find problems faster than I fix them. I just bitch about them. Talk to friends who know how to handle me barking at them. About weird shit, dumb shit, honest shit, and reflective shit. Real shit. I hate holding stuff inside of me like a dead dinner. Im more of an empathetic day and night dreamer. We probably all believe we were made for something greater but greater than what? Youre great. Even that sounds condescending to me. Do I have issues? Yes, I have plenty. Tonight the night tells me to write on my tumblr because this release may help me sleep. See, i’ve been thinking. I realized I’ve never developed the discipline to see things through. Through to the end. But that shit is just so abstract. What is an ending and where does anything end? When does seeing- something- through become a waste of time? In love and in marriage, in work and in our endeavours. Is the day you quit, the night you stop having dreams? Is that called reality? Is this life? My worst nightmare is my life having an anti-climactic middle and ending.
"There probably is a God. Many things are easier to explain if there is than if there isn’t"
— Generative line topography by Mike Creighton
tell me who you are.