There is something changing in me. I fear the loss of my humanity. Before, where I was angry, fighting for all things, including myself… I feel now that fire consuming me instead. And all the pain spent fighting against the world has just resulted in my isolation. Here shall I quote how “all true artists are alone“? I really have begin to wonder at that concept. Could a torture soul know love…be loved? Or do they only know their own suffering.
If a choice was there given unto them…Life in the stars light…alone, angry and bereft of the tenderness of one souls touch alone…would it really be chosen. But what artist does have a choice? They are driven by their passion, and what passion it is…and that responsibility to the art drives those around them away…leaving them standing alone…loved by all…but there alone. What price are we willing to pay for our art? I would like to think the artist should sacrifice EVERYTHING, including themselves to the higher form of their creative duty. I just fear we lose much in it. Perhaps then what we gain in retrospect is worth it…to some…not all. To myself? I don’t know. I know where I wish to go, none would follow…
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