Life, the universe, experience, seems inclined to become more and more complicated and extreme. Was a time I could happily sit amidst happenstances, balanced, thoughtful, unbiassed around all matters and circumstances that confronted my proverbially delicate nature. For we are tender you know, easily hurt, disappointed, wounded by each and every moment that connives to show a lack of sensibility, conscious consideration, reduces any belief in the integrity and worthiness of our society and species.
Personally I do have an outlet for this canker, a habit, a regimented need to chisel my disappointments, my irks and exasperations upon a blank canvas, expose my acrimony in the vain hope it somehow draws the poison from the wounds that so belabor my soul. Quite like an ancient medicants bleeding this procedure is wholly for appearance, having little to no effectiveness upon any reality beyond the illusory. Like a band aid upon an owie, it simply signals my inner pains to any individual willing to peruse my work.