The show must go on

I was in town last night. had fun got abit drunk as is expected of any 21 year old. such a situation has left me here feeling a tad rough. As one prone to hefty spouts of suicidal depression alcohol should be a no no yet it induces a chaos i cant help but find minutely appealing, chaos though uncomfortable is addictive, inducing splendid autobiographies and on we travel, serving as entertainment for the masses because frankly as me, arms, legs and matter which we are, we must strive in the short period of our lives to vent some kind of effect upon our fellow human beings. Which sort of brings me to art as per usual. I mean art is ok, an excellent vent of oppression induced energy but unless it serves the masses or at least a minority then what be its point. One mans blue wall may be an interest to the creator but in the realistic view it does nobody any favors but bores with over academic debates and the same can be and will be said for most modern art. Art should be a pleasure, it should lift you from the doom of normality and place you on a pedestal of amazement. I’ve just noticed my spellcheck is in american so forgive me do. thank you. on we go..
Life i often press upon your little souls is an art form. existence is our canvas and we are our paint and so we breathe and eat out a masterpiece of not only expression but wonder, intrigue, drama and oh my what the fuck thats nuttiness, truly for the satisfaction of others. but then personal satisfaction is a must and if it cannot be avoided make it at least interesting. But then frankly i’m flawed my philosophy is probably flawed though i do hope it induces a smile or a tear for to have no effect on the people is in my feeling a waste of a life.
oscar wilde once said i’d rather be making the news than breaking it (or something along those lines) and so true it is too, to those who find the philosophies of wilde fitting quite easy withing the mindset. So i promise you this if i dont create a masterpeice i’ll become one not through mear vane aesthetics though there is an element of vanity in their but by being quite obviously interesting. 
So once again I’m damned by laziness and my essay is incomplete and past its deadline and frankly i fancy jibbing it off and running off to france to write poetry and bask in an old world imagination based fabrication which my minds does so often drape the view before me, rendering me quite obviously deluded but at the same time happy to be somewhere else where reality cant blight the world i see. The imagination, such a powerful tool is a weapon i feel ever so slightly blessed with and with such a talent I’m off now to bathe in the brilliance of mid 18th century france.
goodnight x


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