22.5.16

Anyway, I'm in Greece.

It's not helping.

Maybe I need to be back on medication, but medication costs money and I'm not supposed to be spending any, I mean, I'm supposed to be getting a job, which I probably can't unless I'm back on some sort of anti-anxiety drugs. How did people get by in the past? Did people like me just crash and burn in obscurity? Or is the anxiety itself a product of the modern era?

I really want the latter to be the case.




I love Monet's late landscapes, flaming red and like no garden you've ever seen—but I bet you've walked in one. I'm sure I have. I shouldn't flatter myself that I can achieve anything of the sort with photography. I'm not blind. (Although the camera is.)

Why can't the people I love love me and vice a versa? And by love I mean sexual attraction, of course, nothing so high-falutin' as extending oneself for the spiritual advancement of another. What does it boil down to? I'm really asking, I don't know.


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