Train-of-thought.
I deserve my own time. A sweetness of presence that I have so easily dreamt away upon breadcrumbs of the selfish. (For context, this is a ridiculous way to talk about searching for love outside of yourself.)
How do artists do it? Bare their souls. And then the fearful and scared have the audacity to criticize, hiding behind their own pretenses and deeply protected hopes. Are we critiquing someone’s soul, or their math? Because there is a difference you can recognize in art, but that isn’t up to me to decide. The math is what sometimes resonates and can impress. But the soul is the purpose, so they say, so what is yours?
A “normal folk” dares to share something beyond the humdrum of a nice meal. The criticism of peers. Why would anyone share? Of course egos exist, you MUST build them in order to survive. Where is the balance in that? Humility and force… this makes my head spin.
How do you stand up for yourself and assume that people will work their way towards your point of view? Empathy and compassion maybe aren’t as accessible as I’d like to assume that they are.
I am a part of this big imperfect thing, and so are you. None of us are alone in that.
Just being yourself, perhaps your most present self, is more freeing than the math. Although I haven’t learned the math…
I fight the urge to make a joke here. A sense of humor and sincerity coexist. Assholes.