You know, it sometimes seems that there's a conspiracy of bad art that strangles any honest attempts at making art anymore. I shut down a part of myself because it was too sincere and I felt too much pain every time I shared something creative. I sometimes think to myself: "What's the use of making art if the taste out there is for shit!"
But maybe that's just feeding into the cycle that kills art. It could be the case. I don't know what to say, other than if you don't try, you'll never know, and I don't usually try. I don't try anything. I haven't tried writing a novel. I haven't done anything creative over the years.
Perhaps it's time to try monsieur ;{o
The other side of it is that no one cares that I exist. This pisses me off tremendously. I want to live, after all. I want options too. I don't want to have to settle for whatever shitbag people life hands me.
I do not mind living in Thailand, but if I have to put up with the working conditions there, I think I may as well just kill myself. Stress is not my thing. I hate being stressed out and not knowing if my job is on the line or not. You get some harsh women over there. Women were actually my bane in Thailand. They are some of the most terrible people. And then there are such nice women too, some that will stand up for you no matter the situation.
Jongjin Yamsri was one of the reasons. I'm not going to lie, I wanted her so badly but the expectations I set up for her hurt me so badly I don't even want to think of her. She could at least have kept up the friendship. I hate being the last one to reply all the time.
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