Goodbye Horses

Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.

Holy Shit I sometimes want to be out of my fucking mind. I think this is the calling card of the true artist. To be slightly to seriously insane. To have some part of you detached from what we acknowledge to be the normal functioning human society. And then you can go and stand on that madness peninsula, and look back at all the normal stuff, and then try to relate to it in ways that produce artistic specimens. I really think I am painfully normal when it all comes down to it, and that most of the perceived insanity comes from heavy self-medication and me realizing I should be crazier. I think all art is tinged with madness. Even the symmetrical banality of lame architecture is born of some crazy inner vision the architect shat out of his brain. This kinda plays into my whole anti-math/chaos theory, because even though you can find the presence of math in virtually every work of art known to man, the real standout qualities in most of that shit comes from a completely different territory in which math pisses its pants and logic vomits profusely. I think I would benefit from being hyper-schizophrenic for a day. At least long enough to write a really good paragraph about it. Nothing too inspiring ever came from Bob in accounting. I like waking up and not knowing what happens next. Does this mean I'm on my way to being an artist? Will I ever feel comfortable calling myself an artist? Is this even a worthy pursuit? Is anything? Would you fuck me? I'd fuck me.