This would definitely mean taking that step from passive misanthropy to outright insulting. So I'm not really going to go on about this except the well deserving post title. The definition of an "artist" and the flexibility with which we treat it. Tragic. The banal passivity with which folk tend to treat the world while some spread crap around with an equally ditzy sense of entitlement. I wonder what pushes them to create. And what stops them. That should hopefully happen more.
But the world's a happy place. And people do happy things that make them and other around them happy. The bitchy misanthrope is definitely not everyone's friend. For obvious reasons. I wonder if it's wrong, nurturing in the way that they are loved too much to be good for them. While sometimes it turns out fine, mostly it's a hoard of mediocrity fighting with one another to be their king. I may be seeing this in monochrome but I like to do things like that.
How optimistic is it really, to pine for eternal glory surrounded by millions who want the exact same thing in the exact same way while being the exact same person themselves. The core of people is the same, and while some may think this may help in some way, it has already strangled the spirit of life and we're living in a dead body, thinking that the methane is probably the sweet smell of hope.
Writing such bile is such a release. The weight is finally lifted off the shoulders and onto these blessed pixelated pages. The fleeting moments of joy that intervene the fabulous cynicity of being are welcome, but not welcome to stay. The laughable obscurity that everyone is relegated to is a neverchanging fact. Well, mostly everyone. Which possibly includes you, dear reader. I also like alienating and being crass with opinions that change with the weather but stick around like a bad cold.
After an endless series of unpublished drafts, the orange button will have some fun.
Human connection.
