My mind has been sinking... dazed... sleepless, and empty. Y'know, I don't think there's much of a point to any of this, yeah?
My art will never go anywhere or "do" anything - people seem to enjoy it, on some level, and I absolutely cherish it as this sort of habitual love - but I believe it's all a very hollow endeavor. It's not that I doubt myself, honestly. Nobody is ever going to appreciate the time, and effort, and thought, and whatever... but, such is life, right? Art is what keeps me going. MidLife: Fate has genuinely kept me alive. There's no quitting, but there certainly is giving in to apathy. Is it wrong to want to be appreciated? Probably.
It's a strange little thing, up in my head; art and creation is my world. Everything I make is, really, for me. Only me. Just as we all die alone, I experience my the worlds within my art alone.
Maybe... or maybe, I should sleep.
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