inedible passions. tasty little braindump.

I used to draw, then doodle, be considered as weird, loud, hyper. Then shut in my own world, suicidal, stressed, lost in an anime world and fanfic- alt. reality. Then, my first boyfriend, a religious exploration, thrust into normalcy and then shut myself back into an isolated bubble of fundamentalism. Liberation, then, rebellion. Sexual exploration, plunging into unhibitied impulsiveness. Then, smack right into the here and now. An open secularism, a city of grey.

I did not understand art until now. I talk about art as a two year old first acknowledges the word NO and embodies its power. NO. Art. Artartartart.

I hated art back in university. I never grasped it; it was as elusive as existential philosophy was for me. I thought, I will never understand art, so why bother. What’s the point. It’s all bullshit.

But I looked at The Raft of the Medusa and it all made sense. And I wanted more. Sense? I connected to it, and others, and that was that.

I wished that I had rebelled 10 years earlier. I ask that to myself at times when all is quiet in my household. But it’s tricky to respond to a seemimg regret…some of us aren’t that bright enough to react that quickly to change. Heh.