Nothing.

I renewed my passport today. Now I feel like the world is mine to
escape into. I can crawl into its darkest depths and never come back
from its comforting obscurity. And what a wonderful feeling that is. I
like beginnings more than I like endings because secretly I am an
optimist who eventually gets discouraged by reality so instead of ever
finishing anything, I just start new things. If you ever would like to
avoid life, this is the way to go until you of course realize you have
never accomplished anything and feel terribly depressed about this
mess of things sitting before you. And it means nothing, absolutely
nothing.

I guess there have been lives lived much less remarkable than mine or
yours. When someone told me we wake each day hoping to make an
impression I didn't understand what was meant, I denied the desire to
leave anything lasting, wishing only to recede into the randomness
that I came from. I'm not sure I agree any more now than then, because
more than that I'd like to achieve an understanding with the chaos
that encompasses every movement, each desire. How that happens or what
that means is far beyond the scope of my contemplation and that is
fine. I'll know it when I know it.

I spent the last two hours painting. Is it only supposed to take two
hours to finish a painting? Whatever is preventing me from being a
genius has more to do with a lack of patience than ambition or talent,
that is for sure.

My stomach is stirring the contents emptied into it earlier in the
day. Somewhere in the flurry of brush strokes dinner was forgotten.
That'll have to be fixed, sleeping on an empty stomach can be highly
problematic.

The painting has been hung on the wall opposite my bed, still wet, but
needing to be there for evaluation. The more I stare at it, the more i
find to fix. And if art isn't secretly about perfection, than
something needs to be.