When the world ends, collect your things…you’re coming with me…
I’d like to believe in all the good things in art but sometimes, it is so difficult. In this cynical world, nihilism runs amuck and the future is always bleak and depressing. What am I to do? What am I to believe in anymore? I was thinking back (bad idea) and I realized that I always had something to look forward to. Now, all I see is a weary nothing. The butterflies in my stomach are all dead.
I can blame all the schmucks in the world but that isn’t really going to help much. I can’t even blame the dumb aunties. How depressing is that?
On another note, I have started working again. I can’t stop looking at pictures of the human anatomy and working from that. Nothing new there. When in doubt, I always regress to former obsessions. Nothing makes me happier than staring at gory photographs and illustrations of the insides of a human body.