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saturn devouring his son - goya

  

    i havent written in a while, because something about 'ca-thar-sis' felt a lot like completion. like the end of a piece. much like a lot of my paintings, if i may speak for it. i die for the sake of the art, i reap the satisfaction with the success of the art, and i die again for thats the price it asks. i cant tell the blood apart from the paint. so i scratch my skin and check if i bleed, check if the colour is right, check again and see if i still bleed or if i've run out. 

    i hold my obsession like a grimoire. the same song on loop, the same grief renewed, the same lover lost (repetition repetition repetition) and i know theres only so much blood i could have, but i cradle my obsession and make sure it lands true. 

    why do you run after your pain, sweet summer child? is it merely to feel something ? - for the world exists in technicolour blood - for a genocide is censored to you through short twenty second reel (which is too much). you run towards a world that has not held a place for you, for it claims even the footsteps with which you run - for if not suffering, what else do you have left to pay for?

    for for for for for

    i have long abandoned making sense. the day i realized that theres a monetary worth to my skills, and if i systematically listed them in paper for another to criticize - i might be surprised that my worth after all, isnt much. my decisions do not really align with the many career plans i set for myself at the age of 13, and hilariously enough - most days i decide how many fucks i give based on how clear the stars are. 

    can you tell the constellations apart? the last time i was at (work), scorpio was wrapped around the moon, prepared to sting. what a beautiful picture it painted - the everchanging phases of the moon, and the scorpion placed on the sky as a threat - never to actually sting, but only to be prepared to attack. 

    theres this app that traces the sky out for you. its called stellarium. you should get it if you want to tell which stars are which. maybe you'll see saturn by chance (and maybe youre the sort of person who would then immediately try to think of innovative and entrepreneurial ways in which you might colonize saturn, to which i say that saturn as in the father of the gods, the lord of the titans. do you know the painting? saturn devouring his son, which goya didnt name himself. he never intended the painting to be seen). 

    you cant see many stars these days. college campus shouldve been the place where you can see more of the stars - but the more trees you replace with modernist innovative entrepreneurial capitalist infrastructure, the less stars you see. its as simple as that, unfortunately. you take away the habitat you lose its habitants. you make the habitat hostile, you make its habitants hostile. my art is far too disturbing. 

    but the artist is only a mirror.