The daily ritual is killing me. This, while having been said by countless millions over countless years and countless locations, is still true.

Something turned off in me and I can no longer be defined by my ambitions or my career or whatever. At best I can only be defined by what I am not.

  • Ambition = nonexistent
  • Career = indifferent
  • Goals = none
  • Life = meaningless

Ritual is the only thing keeping the ball rolling.

Other than that I code, draw and create writing project after writing project. Anything to avoid the studio.

The studio poses too many questions with the biggest being “Why?”

Why:

  • bother
  • try
  • think
  • work

After that it becomes a question of mortality.

Why are you:

  • thinking you’re important.
  • making things that will just sit in a basement.

Which then brings the grand daddy of them all:

What’s the:

  • point.
  • purpose.

All of this is a resounding nothing.

As of this writing 19th century art is taking a beating in the market. Poor bastards finally thought they had some justification for existing too…

I’ll probably do some more painting soon as well. My basement walls need covering.