...having money as a priority.

I come out to Play

What am I doing anymore? hmmm, my mind needs to settle. And it seems to settle at its best when I am doing and concentrating on artwork. However, it is not like I can do artwork all the time. Jobs seem to be fairly important in order to make some sort of living, but the job seems so boring and without thinking I would go insane. Although, I seem to go insane anyway when i am thinking. Possibly a change in subject matter would be the best way to go. Perhaps, I should think more logically about stuff. However, it is hard to do so when it is so easy to think illogical. It is much more fun to think in the ways that make the least sense, well, for a while anyway.

Questions seem rather pointless unless you ask them to someone. Because if you keep methodically asking questions to yourself you are always going to go over the same scenario in your mind or have a constant battle between knowing what should be done, how it should be done, or if anything should be done at all. In doing this, it makes one go crazy and it may possibly take you to the point of insanity where depression is only the beginning.

However, to ask those questions outside of your own mind seems absurd. So you think, "I can live with the insanity." "It'll only be possessing my mind for a short while longer. Just give it some time." But then you worry if you don't, and you start a pattern every day. First, starting off innocently thinking about it. You shouldn't have gone there in the first place, but you have. Then once or twice a daydream may occur, and there is no use to stopping it... You love daydreaming... So you bloody well encourage it. Then, towards the middle of the story you convince yourself of something that would only come true to you in a dream. Hence why this life you desire has mostly been lived in a dream. And, yet again, near the end of the day, you convince yourself one more thing. It will most likely never happen. So the mind was wasted. And then... you wish you could rip out the neurons that encourage this habit. You know that if you could just do that that all could be erased and the embarrasment wouldn't have to be lived any longer. After much thought and contemplation about the surgery, you come to the conlusion you can do without the ripping of the brain, and calm down a little... Evening seems delightfu, once you finish up at the gym, going to start drawing, reading, cooking, keeping the mind busy. But once it comes time for sleep, you know - the time for rest, the thought of tomorrows adventures creeps in your mind... ... ...

...

I look at the glass, broken, and in a million shards if it where to fall. I stare at the point where the damage began, and from there a web of tension, at which the shards form a pattern and should have fallen.

However, it stands, and remains as one. I wish to see it fall, but I know it won't. It will wait to fall until I leave and not there to witness. It knows my desires, and perhaps it may be best to let go.

So, as it remains in its place I conjure another desire. I want to touch it. Not break it, but feel it. It needs to break on its own, but I feel that it needs to know I'm here.

I feel at times that the glass can look a lot like ice. Perhaps that is why I lack the ability to reach out at it. If only I could muster up the courage, for there would be no greater pleasure than to rub my hands, and feel every shard cut me and see my hand bleed.

And yet, I remain passive, and only imagine. So I see the blood drip down in my mind. If only I could see it for real. I could walk up, lift my hand, and it wouldn't even have to take much effort. Although, it seems to take the most effort of all.

So, I still remain infront of the glass. Or perhaps I am behind the glass. Whichever way I stand to it, I keep imagining the blood, and the feel of the shards. The pain only occurs realizing that I have done nothing.

...