gloomy kids rejoice

'Sorry to have kept you waiting'. These are the words of a formulated apology, to myself and to others. I've been perpetually trying to catch up rather than lead at my own life as I chronically lag behind these foreign components of a machine. I've been encountering a number of people and I've been nothing but bogged down and reduced to simple assertion throughout various situations. Perhaps, for now it would be for the best if I step back and gather myself until I get the answers right.

When this year had opened I had the intention of cultivating myself. Surely, I am by all accounts a bundle of nerves, rooting with insecurities and vulnerablities. A month ago from today I was moved to the conclusion that my relationship with Sharon must end. For months it was led with the sort of analysis of contempt. A poor and bitter guy weighing in on the prosperous and confident girl. Despite the superficial differences, we were becoming more and more distant. There was a constant emphases on changes round the clock.

All the arguments were moot. Even in the ways we faltered from one another. She was raised in affluence and would not accept what her parents did or have them projected into her own traits. I can see she is looking for a much better deal than what she put up with. Call it the mechanisms of control, government, bureaucratic guidance, big industrial combines, parents, whatever you want to call it, she is running away from it and open to reaching her limits whether it brings her half way across this forsaken world or not. In time I found us missing. When it came down to it, I was considerably tired of the bickering, tired of the dependence... just overall tired and ready to consider other options. So we called it off on a mutual decision, and after a month, in contrast or comparison, she is on the verge of even more rapid changes than even I can demonstrate.

Now, somehow I feel as though I'm moving in a direction of more and more frustration. Everynight, when I come home my body falls apart. Everyday, when I'm awake my body cries like a child experiencing something terrible, a challenge to innocence.

Overwhelmingly enough, I wish I could say that my first experience in displaying art at the Mercury Lounge for Collective Seen VII was uplifting and driven by experience. But what can I say, it was a night for the Gloomy kids to rejoice in what was our own depressing disintegration of ourselves with the use of music, poetry and artwork. I would explain to some of them that I overtly tried to paint the darkest images I could imagine. Besides my art allowing some people to wallow in grief, obviously most of them did not get the message. In fact, I don't think too many people can relate to my art that's purely a release of negative energy. But what I don't get is how people can be devoid of all the suffering and morbidity in my work and read things only at face value, for example, the zipper mouth on rhytidectomy is about as much anyone can say they like. I know I'm in need of developing my capacity of Emotional Intelligence (EI). Something about my interactions with others doesn't seem entirely human, it's just that I don't think life is all that it's cracked up to be and whenever I share that with someone I receive a real lack of empathy. I need a connection. Without it I'm lost.

As an artist you sacrifice a lot of yourself. My health is diminishing at a crazy rate. The longer I get into this routine, my body goes with it. If only I could take another breathe to elaborate on my thoughts. But I'd rather contemplate the detrimental red button. The red button that is ready to go self-destructive to paralyzing extremes, rather than converting these impulses into a tool of realized art.