a song without words brings with it emotions I am never able to comprehend. Emotions I cannot find words for, cannot find meaning for, and most certainly will never be able to explain to another person.
all I want to do is make sense of my mind, make sense of all my dreams and desires. I rest my hands on the piano, I pick up a paintbrush, and heaven forbid possibly a pen. and what comes out, what I had hoped would be some sort of expression of what is going on inside me, what comes out makes less sense than what I am trying to make sense of to begin with.
I guess this may qualify as "writer's block", but it's different. I'm in some sort of twisted, discounted version. I find things to write, to play, to paint, but it means nothing. If I can't make sense out of my own art, which I beleive should be a reflection of myself, then how will anyone be able to understand? how will anyone even want to understand?
I would love to throw any excuse at this. Maybe the good old: (but slightly over-used) "I'm so busy, I just don't have the time." Or maybe the watered-down-with-self-pity: "I'm sick. I can't even get out of bed, how can I be productive?"
I'd love to make excuses, but that doesn't conceal the fact that my mind is fucking decaying. And anyone who dares to say it is solely do to an overuse of drugs and alcohol clearly has no fucking idea what they are talking about. I do not deny I have substance abuse issues, but don't you dare tell me that is the cause of my problems. I am positive that it is a contributing factor, but it has also helped me be a more open-minded, accepting, and creative individual. And I value that over sobriety any day.
I know I just went off on an idiotic rant about, well, nothing really. Besides the fact that I just can't figure out what the hell I am doing, where the hell my mind is taking me. And what is more frustrating is that this is probably a very common issue. It's like the cold. So many variations, and no cure. It infects us all. Some worse than others. I just got the short end of the stick this time. And I don't see any easy way out.
EDIT:
It's a work in progress. Just got the canvas today. I'll be using pages from an old book from the 1800's as background of the painting. Probably going to add newspaper scraps, dirt, alien sperm, and crushed rose petals for texture. And the theme iiiiiissssss..... SATAN! No really, I'm serious. The devil and sin. "The devil is not so black as he is painted." It's gonna be really interesting showing this to my christian family once I'm done....
all I want to do is make sense of my mind, make sense of all my dreams and desires. I rest my hands on the piano, I pick up a paintbrush, and heaven forbid possibly a pen. and what comes out, what I had hoped would be some sort of expression of what is going on inside me, what comes out makes less sense than what I am trying to make sense of to begin with.
I guess this may qualify as "writer's block", but it's different. I'm in some sort of twisted, discounted version. I find things to write, to play, to paint, but it means nothing. If I can't make sense out of my own art, which I beleive should be a reflection of myself, then how will anyone be able to understand? how will anyone even want to understand?
I would love to throw any excuse at this. Maybe the good old: (but slightly over-used) "I'm so busy, I just don't have the time." Or maybe the watered-down-with-self-pity: "I'm sick. I can't even get out of bed, how can I be productive?"
I'd love to make excuses, but that doesn't conceal the fact that my mind is fucking decaying. And anyone who dares to say it is solely do to an overuse of drugs and alcohol clearly has no fucking idea what they are talking about. I do not deny I have substance abuse issues, but don't you dare tell me that is the cause of my problems. I am positive that it is a contributing factor, but it has also helped me be a more open-minded, accepting, and creative individual. And I value that over sobriety any day.
I know I just went off on an idiotic rant about, well, nothing really. Besides the fact that I just can't figure out what the hell I am doing, where the hell my mind is taking me. And what is more frustrating is that this is probably a very common issue. It's like the cold. So many variations, and no cure. It infects us all. Some worse than others. I just got the short end of the stick this time. And I don't see any easy way out.
EDIT:
It's a work in progress. Just got the canvas today. I'll be using pages from an old book from the 1800's as background of the painting. Probably going to add newspaper scraps, dirt, alien sperm, and crushed rose petals for texture. And the theme iiiiiissssss..... SATAN! No really, I'm serious. The devil and sin. "The devil is not so black as he is painted." It's gonna be really interesting showing this to my christian family once I'm done....