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So it goes. written @ 8:57 p.m. on August 23, 2003 Today is a day, just like any other. Is today really any different from the ones that pass by? I see each day as an opportunity for something wonderful or terrible to happen. I see each day as the same. They are the same as the ones before them, and the same as the ones to come. I see not the days as inividuals, but as groups of days into weeks, and weeks grouped into months. These months are grouped into years, and the years... you get the idea. I wake, I live, I sleep. I wake, I live, I sleep. Take out one of the series. What happens? Nothing. No waking? All sleep--- sure, you're living. But is it life??? This is how I feel right now. I am stuck in sleep mode. No living. I feel no zeal for life, and my yearning for living is diming fast. Where is the excitment? Where did life go??? Where is my art? I miss it so. Each day I crave for my brushes, I crave for canvas, and I crave for the newness and excitment that each painting brings. He makes me not want to paint sometimes. The memory of him. I feel him when I paint and it scares me. I feel him in the paint. After I am done, I must paint over the painting... The feeling of his breath and his face and hist heart beating.... it's too much for me. I miss painting. I miss the freedom. He binds me, the bastard. I need motivation. Hopefully my camera will help with that. I need to find a new muse. He was my first. Now I must find another. 'Tis the life of the starving artist. 'Tis the sleeping, somber, and dark life of a girl trapped within her own body. I am trying to break free. I feel captive in my own decisions. I am born. I am free. I am life. I sleep. I live. I wake. I live. I sleep. I wake. I live.
"As fire lights the wood it consumes, so the soul illuminates the body with consciousness."
- Srimad Bhagavatam
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