- 06 Jul 2021 -
Many thoughts I have had in my delusions, amongst them, a fantasy that I left these writings for someone to find, who is grateful I shared them, the image is shattered halfway to completion, as the nightmare comes into view, my best parts did not make it to the page, I left only scribbles of dead waste. Then the grand tragedy unveils itself to me.
Perhaps I could visualize my waste as sacred, love them and behold from the standpoint of art. Well then, I’d have to view all things through a perspective of art. And now what good is this.
If the establishment remains established, it will not see what I see, and so my error reveals, I was supposed to bring the establishment into my domain, I was supposed to hand over the utility, offer my monocle.
Of all the light and creativity and fun you could have poured into writings, and instead you left this.
And then you remember pain took each step with you. And you remember that this waste is your evidence of survival.