“Art like prayer is a hand outstretched in the darkness, seeking for some touch of grace which will transform it into a hand that bestows gifts.”

apparently, Kafka said this. it’s some deep stuff that characterizes the act of creating art as an act of faith, a belief (articulated or not) that there is a purpose to what you’re creating, that there is something of consequence being accomplished that can only be accomplished by you. that it matters. that you matter. lol

personally, i vacillate between (mostly) being convinced that i write only for my own edification, just because it’s stimulating to me, and occasional flashes of recognition that i must want more. i keep a blog that is technically public, but that almost no ones knows exists. i sit in my class, listening to other people read their work, and i think about how i believe mine is better, even when theirs is good. i don’t want to put myself against them, because it’s stupid and i know it, but i feel the butthurt when they’re good and it bothers me. i don’t want to read my stuff, because it’s embarrassing and i really do think it’s bad, but i also— motherfuckinghell  —do want other people to tell me it’s good, so i’m constantly on the edge of volunteering to read whatever the hell it is i brought this time. the ideal situation is that i’m forced to by the instructor, but i try hard not to hint that i want to be chosen, and i must put on the show every time i’m asked to share.

it used to be easy, because i was unambiguous in my desire to not be noticed, but since i’ve gotten more healthy (whatever in the hell that means) as it relates to being noticed by others. unfortunately, this has created inconvenient, frustrating situations where i actually want to be noticed. it’s really confusing, because these feelings are always at war with the opposite, still strong, impulses, but the fact is that i want people to recognize me and the fact that i have talent (which necessitates actually having talent, which has always been a huge question mark, but that’s why it’s a prayer, duh), it took quite a while for me to even be willing to acknowledge that i had these feelings (of wanting recognition), so who knows how long before i will stop hating myself for having them. it’s all so stupid, and things were so much simpler when all i wanted was to scream into my pillow.

what’s worse, the longer i think about it, i have to consider the very strong likelihood that it’s what i’ve always wanted: everyone to bestow upon me the gift of telling me that i’m good, that they appreciate my dumbass hand bestowing whatever the hell on them. i just don’t want to have to ask for it. 🙈🙉🙊

so yeah, i’ve never been punk. please don’t tell everyone.