Anyway, I just wish I could be more... I don't want to be useful, but I want my actions to matter to me, to matter to other people and to enable me to evolve. But I'm not good enough for that. Kinda funny.

It has long been bothering me that while the quality of life is extremely low there is absolutely no way for any artistic and moral aspirations to strive and I cannot blame anyone for that except the ones in charge. Holding moral grounds is always risky.

To be precise, you can, but the quality of your artworks will inevitably suffer, as well as the time you can spend on it. You can try to combine your struggles with making art, however, and lose all your health, both mental and physical. Kinda sucks.

Saw someone saying that some artist/writer only managed to create so many pieces because he had a patronage and, well, that's basically it. You either make art or you struggle with your everyday problems. You cannot work and worry about your future and food on your plate and make art.

I will also absolutely hate myself for everything posted here but that doesn't matter cause I'm frustrated anyway.

Bruh, cannot even write threads here. What a joke. Well, that'll do for now. I need some space to vent without giving it a second thought and since this place is remote and empty I might as well have some let out.

Sometimes I kind of wanna go back to one of my stories but I'm not sure anymore what I want to convey in there. It would be nice to get rid of all of the dirt I have accumulated throughout the years without bothering anybody, but at the same time I have no desire to touch that dirt.

The wall of rain is quietly tapping on the windowsills, merging with a steady buzz of a furnace on the other side of the wall. This could be calming if not for my legs and back hurting most unpleasantly.

I feel like there is some special kind of stinky lurking out there...