LXXXVII

Bottle of Xanax

Heart pounding. Hands shaking. Racing thoughts.

Anxiety.

Twist off top. Bottle of Xanax. I swallow.

Calm.

But am I still the same person if my emotions are gone?

LXXXVI

A Place Where I Belong 

The soft squeal of creamy milk foaming, the buzz of brewing espresso, the soft humming of terrible indie music playing, the intermittent shouting of various names -- this is my soundtrack. Coffee shops have become my lifeline. 

Skipping class in classic college style, I find myself back at the same spot in the same coffee shop. Some days feeling good. Others, feeling like shit. Yet, always returning here. What can I say? I guess I'm just a creature of habit. But I find that maybe there's more to it. Why do I return here? Because I don't always enjoy exchanging $5 for a mediocre cup of coffee. 

I believe we never lose a grasp on our security blankets. As a young child, we get weaned off our blankies just to cling to something else. Maybe I'm just forming this into my habits because I seek solace. I crave comfort -- a place where I belong. But is that not what we all try to find along our earthy journeys? 

LXXXV

Creating and Destroying 

"Destruction is a form of creation."

- Donnie Darko

As an artist, I know this to be true. In artwork sometimes, destruction is creation. In the semi-recent news, a man punch a hole in a multi-million dollar Monet painting. At first, I was outraged. How could someone ruin the integrity of the piece? But after further thought, I realized, In destroying it, He created  his own piece of art, at the cost of his freedom. How is that not art?

A woman created a piece in an esteemed New York art museum by making out with a wall. Her lipsticked stayed. Art was created. 

With these, it leads me to believe, anything can be art. Creation. Destruction. Even just circumstances. Are we not creating art in the way we dress, act, think, feel? We live life creating and destroying, and, then, we, ourselves our destroyed. Nothing is more poetic and artistic than life itself.