I see the times, and the wrongs, shadowed by my own clouds. In this brief glimpse of existence, if I can't feel, question, or reflect on
myself, then what makes me human? What does it mean to be human?
Am I too pure for this indifferent world? Or too evil for this fragile paradise? How much is enough, both from and for me? How long can I keep going?
These endless questions wash away all I've known or will ever know.
Am I truly what I think I am, or am I a manifestation that only exists and will ever exist in my conscious?
My mind wanders along that highway of the absurd, lost without signs or direction. I've met fellow artists along the highway, each creating their own truth. Our crafts differ, but we all search for the "I" inside us. It comes to me that "I" is the medium, the canvas I've been given, where I exhibit my art. I shape it my way to complete a lifetime's work, my magnum opus.
Is the search for meaning within art what true existence is?
These aren't just thoughts. I live them. I breathe them. What does it
even mean to doubt yourself?
My conscious self, the fierce critique within me, lights me on fire and burns me in this elusive realm. The smell of self-doubts once disgusted It made me fall into the sweet-smelling poison of pride, slowly killing me.
One day, on that lonely highway, alone with a jar of self-doubt and having run out of pride, I tasted it despite the disgust to calm my inner drought. And though it smelled bitter, it tasted like honey, the most potent potion. The most addictive thing I've ever consumed. It chokes you with absurdity. Kisses you with liberation. Embraces you with clarity. Drowns you in its depth.
The uncertainty I found there strangely gives me meaning. Most of all, it gives me purpose, not just to live, but to grow. To embrace my shallow existence. To know myself, my fears, my biases. And, weirdly enough, I've made peace with the uncertainty of life and no longer fear it. The uncertainty helps me create my very personal masterpiece, my magnum opus.
Does realization tie me in a lasso or cut me loose?
There is a forbidden plant growing inside me, with the fruit of right
and wrong, my conscience, the one that challenges me all this time. And I speak like a bleeding philosopher mid-war.
It prepares me to exist beyond my human body. I watch myself from outside, dissect myself, and see inside.
Introspection, you deserve both heaven and hell. You keep me breathing in this valley of the dead. You are my friend, and my enemy. You will be venerated. You will be damned.
blakekathryn
yousharknotpass
janainaart
vaporwave
kaledo-art
origamiaround
