forgive my anger, silent God
your world is dark
and your forms are blind
the enslaved
forlorn sod of it
each unnotched loop of time
each
ending
further than we knew
what use are laws in space composed of

My Titulo

So many artists were bipolar, schizophrenic, and/or depressed it almost seems like a precondition.

I feel like the only way out of this hypersensitive emotionally overdriven state of mind is to FORCE it out through a creative medium.

The key is that balance between the unconscious mind and the creative self. Tap into that border where you can RELEASE but also EXPERIENCE.

This is the path to salvation. This is the cure for depression and self-worth. This is the meaning of life.

I am not fucking kidding.

Lulu (Hesse)

Every moment, a bitter and tormenting thought repeatedly occurred to him: that his renunciation and departure were not to be. He had to throw himself at her feet, to encircle her with all the burning flames of his passion, to woo and win her, to take her by force and ravish her. To do something, anything but sit idly by in her presence, while one blessed moment after another of his last hours in it hastily and irretrievably ran out. Nonetheless, he fought bitterly to gain control over his emotions, and in these last moments he concentrated on one thing: to impress her beautiful image deep into his soul, until it was branded there, glowing and painful, as desire never to be forgotten.