In this strange state of affairs where bohemia helps us ignore the great intangible house of cards that somehow keeps billions of us fed
In my own little world, made up of success after success and **** up after **** up, there's a barrier that stays the course whatever roof I'm under
While I don't attach my creativity to it anymore, it occupies the same space, creating irrational from the rational, developing natural disorder
Hollowing out the moment so I can feel it as a poison later, a fantasy of who I should of been
But despite this.. old parasite I still hold onto my optimism, still build and learn and deconstruct and can see my success in a fruit that tastes so ******* good

I don't like who it makes me, I don't like the waste of the good times, the emotional challenge it sets me, the self involved ******* who doesn't know his own mind well enough to not have the next drink or to get away from the screen for that extra hour
But.. its something that shapes who I am, and I guess I can thank for creating the desire to improve and understand the context of every cell and mental directive
I just.. its coming clear that there is a permanence attached to this, and a mystery that needs solving, habits that need changing
And if I ever want to succeed in that unattainable sense of zen I'm so ******* desperate for, or at least close enough for long enough to let someone I love know why they should feel the same way

I need to accept the uncomfortable truth of the disorder
I need to let it shape my life, to keep in mind, to take life in the context of it
And accept that I'm not done with my struggles to be the man I want to be
I guess we never are

But.. if my art is so obvious to me, if my profession is a definite thing
If the people around spark mutual smiles and every now and then a cute one wanders over for a talk despite the unwritten rules saying she shouldn't
If everything else in life can be perceived and solved
Then this can become beatable, manageable

And maybe, just maybe
I'll get a chance to really relax