diary #5
this year i will make art again. i was dwelling outside in the woods, and reclaiming my adherent fascination with nature and its vast imperfection that in itself transcends the godly notion of purity far and beyond… it transcends constructed notions of time and space…. calendars…. speaking of calendars, the bloody roman calendar that is… it’s 2020. i had gotten lost. so lost. i can barely remember my own name! it starts with a c. i forgot my mission. i forgot my mission!!! oh no!!!! i stopped making art. for some reason i had no idea how to go about making it. could not bring my long knobby hand to pick up a pencil. even when i did, nothing good came out of it. it got lost in the numerological schema of events that is my life, i don’t want to die. i want to be alive. i am ever so sick of this numbness, this life with no purpose. it is an imminent and overhanging sense of (spiritual) lacking
