Why do I want to Create? To what end? Is it because I cant help it? I’m all quotes and questions, tumbling and tripping into my sentences until I fall into a black-hole, devouring the gravity of my words as swirling steam.
Do I want to Create to make my name public? To be remembered? Is it so survivalist? An answer to my inability to have children, my incapacity to leave legacy?
When I started Creating it was instinct, something I did subconsciously, out of boredom. Now my head swivels in all directions seeing constant production, meaning things and being passed like crusted skin rags.
And now I look to my past, watch my hand and feel pressured to respond.
Perhaps I should paint, draw, write as if never for anyone ever at all, isolate it, just keep doodling with no eye towards the public. Attempting otherwise has never been very helpful.
Film makers want light, writers want ink, paper?
Everyone is trying so hard.
If this is all I can do, and I don’t share it, what do I have to offer the world? or the word.
Revelation after forgotten revelation.
Enlightenment only seems to come when I’ve forgotten something else.
