Today, I looked into the mirror. I stared, stared at myself. I kept looking at my reflection. It was quite an interesting experience. My head was empty. I did not think of anything as I stared. I simply existed for a very very fleeting moment. At some point my reflection has quite the irritated facial expression, its eyes were a bit tinier than before, it's head high and it's gaze directed downward, as if staring at something that was beneath them. At some point it started to feel like I was the reflection rather than the person. The thought alone brought me peace. It still brings me peace. My reflection has eyelashes, quite a lot of them, it has eyebrows, quite bushy even, and a metal stick poking through them. My reflection has irritations in its facial features, pimples, and dyed, unruly curly hair sticking to its face. I don't remember growing that many eyelashes. I never felt them grow. So why. Why do I have so many?
I never allowed my body to have so many marks and brows and hairs and scars and imperfections. I never made them. I believe I might have dissociated for a second. And for that second i was confused.
'This is the body I reside in' is what I thought, I did not think that it was me. For I am the mind of the body.
An outward 'i' would only be able to exist if i could customize my body completely to fit my ideologies, beliefs and standards. It would only exist if i would be able to clothe myself with any fabric that exists to my own tastes, to the tastes of my own mind, and not what is available to me personally. But that is not possible.
I could learn how to sew clothes properly with my already lacking skills, but that is of no interest to my person. I like individuality, even though individuality is the thing that makes it harder to live in the current day and age, even so I enjoy it. But I am unable, unable to embrace my own individuality. I do not have the clothes, the body, the gender, the skin tone, the hair structure, or the eye color.
I hope we're all aware that that's just an excuse.
It's all excuses.
The money I spend on buying "normal" clothes could be spent on a person that could sew whatever I wanted for me. It could be spent on my individuality
I admit I am scared of my own individuality.
I am scared that it is lacking, I am scared that it is too special and at the same time too common.
That it is simply too much of everything.
The myth of me embraces my individuality, yes.
Have you heard, when an artist stops making art for himself, and instead tries to cater to an audience, his art is lacking.
I have started to try and cater to the audience at some point, to the measly 60 or so views this work got. I have written countless, truly countless chapters of my work, and I've done anything but upload them.
'How can I make it more cryptic?'
'How can I make it more cynical?'
I may be cryptic, I may be cynical, but in the instant I started to worry about such things, I simply knew that my writing could no longer be called art.
You see, I've already written about the question of "Me" and "I", precisely at the moment at which I finished "The Picture of Dosian Gray" a few months back.
I dont remember, neither do i know if i ever published it to my dear dear few and far in between readers, or if i simply left it as an unwritten "I'll think about it more later" Draft
During my long absence I've done quite a few things, you see.
A lot of things.
But
Thinking is something I haven't done in a while.
I hate thinking, for it makes me suicidal. Now i dont hate being suicidal, but i have other things to do, even so, suicide is always in the back of my mind, tho i admit, its more distant than before.
Why? You may ask, even though life has sent me onto unwalkable ways?
Because I stopped thinking.
Like a cog in a machine, like a hivemind.
I float about in groups and fit in.
Once I did that, I stopped thinking.
This feels like home, this 1 am typing away at my Laptop, blabbering about my emotions, thoughts, and feelings. My grammar mistakes and my lacking vocabulary, this is what makes my writing art.
I AM AN ARTIST
No matter what
No matter how ugly my art may be, my writing is art.
My writing is me.
Even though my prior, unfinished writings are imperfect, are catered, are lesser, i will still upload them.
The insecurity of being viewed, and the validation a singular comment gives me, that is also art.
Art will save the world.
"Art is imitation, and that is its limitation."
Plato
"The aim of art is to represent not the outward appearance of things, but their inward significance."
Aristotle
Art does not want the representation of a beautiful thing, but the beautiful representation of a thing."
Kant
"We have art in order not to die of the truth."
Nietzsche
"Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known."
Oscar Wilde
"Every work of art is a gift, offered in freedom to freedom."
Jean Paul Sartre
"Without art, the crudeness of reality would make the world unbearable."
Camu
"Art will save the world, for it's an individualist's way of communication, for it brings utmost validation."
Sano
YOU ARE READING
The myth of 'me'
PoetryI wish to rip my skin off. Have you ever thought about taking someone else's skin and wearing it as if it's yours? Have you ever thought about taking someone else's identity, just to see how it might be? I am awfully curious. This is nothing more th...
