Trial and error, Pain and Pressure, Equals the beauty of essence, without these things , dreams unseen could never be. There is a qualm in my spirit . A fight in my mind, am I wasting time? Or Is life not so serious ? Being here is magical , creating is the absolute function of humanity yet, questions of doubt rush out like a ocean freed from a barrier. There is a knock on my mental door with reminders of fear, failure, and distrust that this process of learning growing, dying and getting back up just won't be enough. That the system to succeed is crippled and 911 only answers to certain emergencies, that mine is not as important on society's scale of 1 to 10 So my hopes of being a working artist should just end. Purpose calls out ; but the soud is so faint, so I dive into religion, spirituals, love, sex, and paint. Trying to figure out how my love of art brings so much damn pain, too few gains; but doing anything else is simply insane.
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