I need something. I feel sheepish about it. Almost embarrassed and ashamed. Constantly feeling like something needs to be let out or discovered. Not sure where the hesitation comes from. Hollow feeling that somehow still feels so dense. Weird contradiction. I love the strangeness that comes with enmeshed dichotomy.
I feel like I should take a leap into something. I just need SOMETHING different. There’s some sort of hazy, burning ache inside and I’m wondering if this is part of the thing I’ve been trying to numb and ignore for so long.
Writing that out makes sense, but reading back over it doesn’t. More enmeshed dichotomy. Is art really just some sort of masturbatory way to self express? Why does this need even exist? And why is it so tasty and stirring and powerful? What the hell are we doing here?