art is my religion
‘i’ am in severe needency to divorce myself from this self-destructive comfort zone of apathy, intoxication & sloth. Motionless/silence/a frozen space. Either that or the majority of my previous entrees shall manifest. Even if one had no purpose here, a something must surly be better than this nothing. A dormant & familiar fear is surfacing. I am what I fail to face; this is what I must replace. it would be easier if life in general inspired me creatively. Though its not like i'm blindly juggling the burdens of gods. Five a frozen splinter, near & at the center; to beckon the cinder & renew. I saw a young boy the other day, not older than eight maybe. He was walking with who I assume was his mother & similar in age brother. They seemed ordinarily simple & happy to be under some preserved light of a divine, chatting & chirping like young, excited & ambitious life tends to. The one young boy was bald (*) because he was undergoing chemotherapy… because he had cancer. I lost my fractured appetite & the resent I harbor toward ‘god’ folded over only to exponentially increase tensegrity wise.
(*) note the first comment(*)