Time to become a genius.
Truthful expression isn't all peachy keen, yet I find it the most uplifting. Progression, to me, is one of the greatest virtues (because progression in evil things isn't progression after all), and it can only be garnered from the truth.
Truthfully, this year has paid its toll -- an indention on my practice, thought, and ideation. A good toll. A truthful toll.
Honestly, I wish I could remove myself into seclusive hermithood and absorb everything you won't.
I want to do a lot of reading this summer. I think it's high time I finally read On the Road... and mad art theory.
Art is like the greatest disease -- once you're infected, it's for life and there is an entire regiment of treatment and medication which necessitates your survival... if you don't have daily opportunities for expression and developed methods in artmaking, you would most surely die.
Thankfully, OU has turned itself around for me in the last half of the year. I love college. The only draw for high school was an intense social scene --- college has that plus academic strongholds.
I need to start writing more of my thoughts down. I'm in such a transition period with everything. Hopefully I'll settle down into something for at least a little stabilization until the next forward transformation.
I should devote myself this summer. It would save a lot of money in time if I smoked less weed. But then, summertime = a lot of both to waste. I should produce and consume produce and consume produce and consume knowledge.
I feel as though I am misunderstood a lot -- not in a middle school rebellion "You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same" kind of way either. For as long as I've lived, I've been "weird", done things differently. I'm hoping I can utilize this possible unique outlook for something fruitful. Or maybe I'm a fucking hack.
I have to break everything. I have to shatter boundaries so I can form like Voltron just to shatter again. I have to be bad to be good and so on... art meanders and restricts despite its self-proclaimed so-called Postmodern freedom. I'm on the cusp of everything armed with nothing it seems. Time to scavenge for originality. Time to become a genius.
Truthfully, this year has paid its toll -- an indention on my practice, thought, and ideation. A good toll. A truthful toll.
Honestly, I wish I could remove myself into seclusive hermithood and absorb everything you won't.
I want to do a lot of reading this summer. I think it's high time I finally read On the Road... and mad art theory.
Art is like the greatest disease -- once you're infected, it's for life and there is an entire regiment of treatment and medication which necessitates your survival... if you don't have daily opportunities for expression and developed methods in artmaking, you would most surely die.
Thankfully, OU has turned itself around for me in the last half of the year. I love college. The only draw for high school was an intense social scene --- college has that plus academic strongholds.
I need to start writing more of my thoughts down. I'm in such a transition period with everything. Hopefully I'll settle down into something for at least a little stabilization until the next forward transformation.
I should devote myself this summer. It would save a lot of money in time if I smoked less weed. But then, summertime = a lot of both to waste. I should produce and consume produce and consume produce and consume knowledge.
I feel as though I am misunderstood a lot -- not in a middle school rebellion "You laugh at me because I'm different, I laugh at you because you're all the same" kind of way either. For as long as I've lived, I've been "weird", done things differently. I'm hoping I can utilize this possible unique outlook for something fruitful. Or maybe I'm a fucking hack.
I have to break everything. I have to shatter boundaries so I can form like Voltron just to shatter again. I have to be bad to be good and so on... art meanders and restricts despite its self-proclaimed so-called Postmodern freedom. I'm on the cusp of everything armed with nothing it seems. Time to scavenge for originality. Time to become a genius.