I Was Listening To Empire Ants As I Was About To Fall Asleep, So An Image Suddenly And Randomly Flashed

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He was returning home, wondering if...

There is a lot going on with him.

The vulnerable truth beneath...

It is 5 am. Or maybe 6. He is the only one who is awake. The weather is chilly. Street lamps are now off. Birds are starting to wake up, but for now, it is all silent. It is silent and desolate so he can be all alone with "it". That's what he lives for.

The best time of the day.

"You have it easy, Killua.

You're perfectly calm.

Since it means nothing to you..."

Today I walked home listening to The Modern Things from Bjork. I just had to draw something upon my arrival. 

I realize art is not so much about what you actually create, but it’s about imprinting an experience so that it will stay with you. All my favorite works were created in moments of some sort of importance. Had I not created them, what would have I done with all the emotions? As the works stay I can revisit them and remember that such a thing has indeed happened, that it has taken its course in reality and in me. 

Then why was it that we were taught to create for the sake of expression, beauty, novelty, importance in terms of development, or anything of the sort that actually has nothing to do with us? Why should I care if a work is any good in expressing this or that emotion, idea, or whatever? If it does, am I expectant to be satisfied by the fact that I could objectively and skillfully convey my situation, and enabled myself, an unseen and untouched reality, to finally materially exist in society? 

It is indeed true that I was tricked into thinking so. That’s why I’m talking about it! Then what should one do next? Will I really be able to go for myself?

Still life study of a flower from a dying bouquet, under the window light.

I didn’t need you to catch me, baaaka!