Art lives

to imagine
life
without
art,
is to
die.

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A gap wholly filled by divide.

i think, and feel, that i’m stuck repeating myself. my expression has slightly changed, although the words and images carrying my idea(s) have altered. i’ve learned and used new words and imagery, yet the underlying message has remained the same. there are only so many ways for me to say that what i’ve experienced seems absurd. of course i’m part of the whole, therefore, i too must be absurd. to complain about it is to criticize oneself. maybe i’m not attacking the whole, but the gap that is myself?