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I'm finding it extremely difficult to find time for my art. Between two full time jobs and helping my mom with house repairs, there's not a lot of time left for me to do what I want to do. This blows. At least I can work on my art at one of the jobs. It's the only reason I don't look for a better job. Oh well, que sera sera.
Zombies
People are this insufferable plague. It is easy for me to draw myself away from humanity. My room has become a cave for which to hide myself away in. But now I find myself needing to study my own species. With visual art it was easier, you don't need to hear the word that spew from their mouths to draw them. But with literature it is a necessity to listen. This hasn't made me grow fond of people, quite the opposite. I hate them more. And the more I study them I find them all too predictable. So few surprises lie with humanity. We are creatures of habit, and though we like to consider ourselves unique, we are rarely that. But still I must stud
Why couldn't I have been a single celled organism?
I'm finding myself wondering more and more....the point of it all. When you think about it. No one really matters. No one life/death makes much of a difference at all. And what is a difference? A significant change in or effect on a situation. But does the situation make a difference? I don't think so, but maybe I'm wrong. So many people in this world strive to find the place they belong in our society. But I don't wish to belong in our society, or any other for that matter. People make me fuckin' sick. All the schedules, all the plans, lists, when all we really want is to stay home in front of the idiot box or bang every bitch in sight. Or s
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