whatever I can get

whatever I can get

whatever I can get

...

I want so badly to want this so badly.

feelin' [the] ugly today

ouch.

what's the point?

Most of the letters I've been writing lately have ended up in the shredder, and those that haven't probably should have. Is there such a thing as too much honesty? Letters preserve the truth of a moment with a certain permanence, but sometimes I wish they didn't. The truth changes as people change as time sways, and usually I love the capturing of moments and preservation of them, but sometimes I'd prefer that no record existed of certain ephemera and am tempted to destroy what attempts I make. Sometimes it's out of my hands. Regret is a useless emotion unless you act on it...which I guess applies to all emotions...and I really don't see a point in wasting my time being preoccupied by it when there's no ctrl-z to fix things. Sometimes I hate trying to be honest or truthful when I know that the truth is just going to change and that mostly the rest of the world is pretty dishonest and untruthful. I suppose that's why the best art is the capturing of some kind of truth, no matter how impermanent a truth it is, and I suppose that unless I can learn to shake this discomfort with certain truths I'll never be able to be an artist of any worth.

This is not the direction in which I intended to move this, but whatever. Perhaps it is better that way.