(no subject)
sweetest, tell me, is it art that you want to create or an art career? it kills me to see you do this to yourself: performing in rome, exhibiting in new york, being interviewed by magazines whose attention is all your fragile identity is based on. does this really make you feel better about yourself? does this really compensate for years of rejection and self-hatred? does this really prove you're okay as you are although your father went to the grocery store to buy lolli pops to his little boy (6 years old, untamed hair & wide, sad eyes) and never came back? is it really as fucking hard as it seems to believe you could be loved for the person you are and not because you're oh so intense, oh so very gifted & oh so goddamn pesumptuous? i'm beginning to be convinced suffering indeed is an unavoidable, frustratingly necessary factor in the process of self-discovery & grandness. my art vs. your art: you call it grandness, i call it prostitution. stop selling your soul and expecting applause, stop hating yourself on my time. this is called resistance.
every creative person has a second date of birth, one which is more important than the first; that on which he discovers what his true vocation is.