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June 2022

Studio this month, has been rough. I somehow make the art I want to make yet I am still filled with an eerie emptiness. It's as if I assumed that following my aspirations (art making) would lead to my happiness, (or make me feel worthy enough) yet inside I feel the same as I always do. Just, meh, me. Not that meh is bad in anyways! The feeling of existing fluctuates. It makes me realise so much more about the reality of our inner selves, our consciousness and our essence. 'Within' us. It floats and it meanders, like a spirit bouncing off and around other people, into people, into yourself, here and there and yet it always resides home, in your heart. I believe that. I always have, especially as a type 9 on the enneagram, this relationship between [me] and the external world, the stuff, the clutter, the noise, sounds and the narratives we tell ourselves about our lives, are so far from one another. I am me, and to me, I am more an essence than a person or an ego. Never my name, never the art I make or the things I do. Never the pain I cause or the joy I feel. All of these whisps of inspiration that appear are merely parts of the universe responding to its self. Attempting to bond with itself. All I ever do in life is reach out to the universe, to feel a sense of connection that I am not alone. That I am safe. 

Vulnerability is necessary for regrowth. Weakness is a part of life. I am practicing enjoying my life. Right now, all I ought to focus on is living my best life. For so long, and even now this idea has felt shameful and riddled with guilt. I question, how does feeling sorry for myself heal the world in anyway at all? It doesn't. I am merely trying to paint the narrative that *I* too struggle in life, which is yet another way to boost my ego. If I truly cared for the world, cared for our people and our planet, I will look after myself the most. Treat myself with the most love. Love is contagious and it spreads. 

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I Ramble. Vulnerability is important.

Damn. This is a place where I just ramble now. How is it, that I have so much I want to say, yet when I find myself in group settings, or with any other people at all, nothing comes out of my fucking mouth??? It makes me feel shameful, like I can't express the true way I feel. It makes me insecure, because I can compare myself to this better version of myself that is extroverted, confident and charismatic. That can make everyone feel better. But that is just not the reality. Most of the time I am annoying, horrid and boring. I am on this journey where I am learning that other people's judgements about me are not my problem and out of my control. That is the journey I am on. 

That is why I love to move my body. I say so much more when I am in touch with my body or doing stupid things. There is a nihilistic pessimism about it. Like, hey, look at this stupid thing, because NOTHING ELSE LITERALLY MATTERS. I use stupidity as my intellect. Stupidity to me is a method that defies the rules, the policing, the control and power placed upon us by others. It makes me mad, but I have to act strategically, and this is my strategy. Look after myself, be smart (so you are considerate of other people), but be dumb (so you can find the small things enjoyable in life). 

Make sense?

Top Key points for the best life ever:

1. Be kind to yourself. So so kind that you never even dreamed so much kindness could exist. but it does!!! So much of this kindness exists and it is burning, growing, exploding out of you!!! You have the power for so much. Practice listening and exposing it. Nurture that kindness.

2. Make art. Keep making. Have fun. 

jaz 27 June 2022 9:11pm

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