When I lose the feeling in my legs

I resort to art.



"The pouting disconsolate mouth, the flat, bored, numb, expressionless eyes: symptoms of the foul decay within." - Plath

- which is essentially how I have been feeling everyday, and when I think about how I might have gotten better at living, I end up doing otherwise. (But everything is fine because I get used to it, maybe just not too immediately.)

Growing up, you reach a point where the things you do that, in retrospect, had you thinking might effectuate change in yourself or in the world, do not matter as much anymore. It is an almost unavoidable dead end. How do you cope with that? You turn around, retrace your steps, and go back to the beginning.

It is exhausting.

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About the video: A friend showed me this earlier. I really like the contemplative nature of this profile; it gives the viewer an intimate understanding of how artists feel about their work, which, I think, is something often subjected to prejudiced opinions, especially from people who are not involved in the industry.