I’m in a room meant to be my office, my bottom is hurting from sitting to long on a chair, sounds come from the boiler and cars passing by, a slight hart burn rises from my stomach and I smell of old sweat. I’m physically precent but when I turn to my emotions their is nothing. I have no desire to effect my environment, I can not feel love, though I know logically that it is their. Trying to write these words seem like an impossible task.

I’m an artist, someone who tries to give an experience with a long term gain. I have dreams, I want to explore in the widest sense of the word, ultimately though I wish to help and encourage others to do the same. To explore is to believe that their is something beyond our selves, that their is more to humanity and life than we know. However all I feel is that the world does not want such artists. That our society suppresses anything that does not have immediate gain in the form of commodity. I know that my thoughts are not rational, so I try not to think. I let my self fall in to a void where I can be passive. This is part of the process, or at least that is what i have chosen to believe, it is how I give my depression a purpose a meaning. Because I do not know where this cloud of darkness comes from, their is not a trigger, I have not lost someone, I have not been physically il, I just woke up one day and felt no passion. It is a recurring cycle… sometimes I wonder if it’s because I can not live up to my delusions of grandeur, or that I think people should engage in what I do as much as they do with porn stars and reality show stars. Maybe I feel a sense of entitlement knowing that their are so many that hold the attention of the public with what I perceive to be a spectacle, that give immediate pleasure but no long term gain. In me their is the thought that I deserve to be heard, deserve to be paid, deserve to be listened to, deserve to be encouraged, because what I have to give is so much more then a nice wet pussy taking one cock after the next, or a faceless suit moving money from a to b, or a handsome face singing “Adore ya girl I want ya”. This is the age of entitlement, where everyone thinks they are special, that they all should live in mansions and wear designer clothes. However I know I’m special, because I might have the potentiality to stimulate people to be free within their own minds. And I don’t want to live in a mansion that shows my wealth, I want to live in something that encourages the imagination and I don’t want designer clothes telling people how rich I am, I want close that inspire.

If I knew that I would be happy giving up on my desire to continue as an artist, replacing it with a life where I work 9 to 5 and knowing I would never suffer depression. I would do it without a second thought… or would I? I’m compelled to follow the path of the artist, because it is what I believe. If you are not willing to suffer for your belief than you do not believe, and it would be admitting that what I have to say to the world is not important after all. So I must endure feelings of apathy and despair, knowing that in these moments I might fall so far that I will not rise again.