These are pieces I can not put into the other separate categories, yet wish to share them with everyone, most of the works I believe which will be uploaded here are writings and concepts. Please enjoy the works and crafts I can leave here.

*Notice the name being used in the written work is that of my other names given at birth and is better seen personally as a writer alias.

Title: Tales of our Father

By Emmanuel Jones

March, 23rd, 2016

Preface: As I write over this old work made by a much younger version of myself, I would like to say there was truly something pure to be maintained from this story and I wish for it to maybe allow whoever the reader may be a chance to feel whatever this short story can express.

~This world wasn't really meant for us and that's not the issue to this. Even after the realization, this world wasn’t meant for us we made more descendants. We couldn't stop. There was more for you to learn when we were both young and now that you've grown so much I feel as though you've made it far enough on your own that I can be free from the curse pass we all held onto so horribly. Not in a simple potion or a magical gate to some haven, but in a nice slumber I can go with you. I can't wait to see you again, you'll have such a different face and way of acting I am so excited and proud of myself to be able to know you've outdone me and haven't become what I and the rest of us were.

Your mentor and father.

I love you and am so proud of you.

Farewell until the next time we meet.

Be strong for all of us, waiting on the other end.

*****

-That message wasn't opened in the past 3 years and now that my will was strong enough to check it my world has become a complete abyss. There wasn't a moment in my life where I thought my father was going to pass and even the times when life was the toughest I always loved him. My mother passed at a young age and we had to go through the world we all created and up until now, I was okay with that fact. Until I spent the next 4 days in utter depression and puddle of tears of sadness and anger I didn't realize what he meant. My father passed a few months after that letter, I was always going to open it I was just busy with the world around me and needed to grow stronger to see back to my past and now I am the last of my bloodline. I'm uncertain if I'm human at all anymore I've experienced all of the emotions...I have now experienced all the emotions all humans have felt. My father knew all along what would make me unique from the people of before not by knowledge and religion, but by my spirits experience. My father was always guided by the Lord and I am guided by it as well. I don't plan on descending anymore than what has already been passed. I have grown weary and tired all the people in my genes deserve peace and I will help teach all the people I can change for the better and at that moment I will rest with my father and mother and everyone in my ancestry.

*****

~My father wasn't truly my father, but he rests now and all I asked of him was for his name and that he granted it to me. Why would someone or anyone of our kind be gifted with that power, have his name, I don't know certainly. I know all that must be done now is to make this world pure again. My wife was happy to name our child after my father and that was enough for me to die.

*****

-My father passed after my birth my mother recalls with a fake smile and a distasteful truth of pain in her eyes. She also recalls every time she has a chance to speak of my father's father. I don't know him at all no images or papers of his existence it's as though he never was here. The times I question my mother she says I am testing her. I am unsure what I was supposed to do with my life, but I feel as though my mother must watch my children with my wife as I find out what was the true meaning to my urge of my father's father identity and what he is to me.

*****

~My life changed when my father came back to see us after 17 years. He wasn't as much as I imagined to be, but he explained to us that he was doing the cleansing of the world that our father's father left for us. All he has to back himself and his words were a message that every time any of us read brings us a choke to the entire vertebrae. I and the rest of my siblings are now being taught by our father what we must do that was passed by our father's father's father work.

THE END.

Title: The Void

By Emmanuel Jones

September, 14th, 2018

Preface: To the gift of foreign realities and the shadows in the mind's eye that lead towards discussions causing the skin to crawl and the hairs to shoot up. To nightless hours thinking of the horrific fears under many moons glooming the nightlights to insomnia. Thank you to my family and close friends, for opening the world of natural fear. -E. J

There was a subtle buzzing inside my mind before I had a chance to open my eyes and confront the reality that there had been something different about my habitual nights. It was nothing concerning, just a feature that appeared in my train of thoughts that would end up passing over my mind once I finally woke up. It's the type of reactions you get by being woken up and trying to fall back to sleep for that one dream you had that made you really happy, but you can't get back to it because the more you think of that dream the harder it gets to remember the features about the dream itself. That feature became all too well with me once I woke up and forgot about the strange sensation I had in my mind, no other type of feeling had rung around in the corners of my skull.

There was definitely a difference since last night, the air felt dry and my head was throbbing as if it was the first time getting a hangover drinking as a young teen. It must have been the heater or the roof leaking over again like a few months back, but there was certainly a change in the air. My throat feels itchy and my nose is getting clogged, certainly, I didn’t rest well last night, or was it a blackout. Everything seems to be foggy. Glancing over my shoulder slightly towards the kitchen I can feel aches and pains and I am to blame for I shouldn’t have allowed myself to sleep on this damn couch, it’s so out of character of myself. As I slump over myself and feel every joint in my body open up to the screams of irresponsible adolescence I stand without a second of tipping over. That's great I'm not hungover, but I am in pain so there's still that issue to figure out. Dragging my feet against the floor towards the faux pas wood floors of the kitchen, I remind myself of a prisoner being dragged by its shoulders and nothing to help them with the bare feet kissing the floors without consent.

Entering the kitchen seems to have the usual atmosphere and that's for certain with that stupid lightbulb never fully working properly. Having this awkward entry into the room responsible to conserve food and hold kitchenware in cabinets, drawers, closets, I know that the lightbulb is only going to be the end of me one of these days. Might as well get a glass of water and think back carefully on what happened last night. There's always a problem though once trying to look back at your nights alone in a pretty limelight home, you never truly make difference between your time inside this so-called place known as home. I spent many months in each of these rooms and for a reason, I know exactly why it only feels like hours. My train of thought wanted to deny the reason why it felt so short-lived, yet I played with the idea.

-“There was a shower and then I went to brush my teeth and… no... no... that doesn’t make sense scratch that, I went to get food and then went straight to bed.”

It's amusing playing your own mind games only when you're alone and aware it's a game because the moment you lose that grasp on the consciousness to the board game in the mind you can seem crazy. For that very explanation, I felt as though I may have slipped into a bit of a who's who leaderboard play.

-“Yeah that makes sense, but then why am I fully clothed from when was this TUESDAY”.

Not only that but if I went to bed, why did I wake up on the couch, sleepwalking isn't something to happen with me at all. This doesn’t seem right, my day feels off. It’s Thursday or is it Sunday? Maybe a moment of shut-eye will take away this feeling of confusion, I know I just woke up, but I'll be damned if this feeling of slumber isn't taking over my mind. Waking up feeling dead isn't unusual for us 9 to 5 people especially when you work the graveyard shift. Before lying down I’ll take note of the time.

-“A little paranoid than hunh? ”

I have to make a note of the time that’s all. The clock on the coffee table struck 5:42, I’ll just lie down until 6. The silence of the house seems a bit strange for some form of reason, I can’t wrap my mind around it. My body is telling me to stay alert as if the silence around the house is all of a sudden more empty. Or could it be that my mind is confused that this small excuse for a three-seater couch is comfortable for the first time ever?

-“Okay enough with the pondering, there is nothing wrong just let the nap take over.”

The mind can ponder and wonder all it wants, but the time hasn't adjusted to any given shut-eye.

“DING”

-“Urgh, okay that was quick or it wasn’t 5:43? Okay, that's strange, it felt like I slept for at least half an hour, that doesn’t matter, I have to figure out what’s so odd about today.”

Maybe going upstairs to check myself out in the bathroom will do me good, even a shower could lighten my feeling of uneasiness. Heading out of the living room my feet are gradually getting more free from my prisoner drag. I can also say that walking around this house without socks on is a big no-go, my habit of walking with shoes on in the house has never done me well except to run out for work and nothing else. With that in my mind, I know that my towel should be in the bathroom, with my bad habits and tics I left my towel on the hanger. I’ll know I showered with my reminiscing habits to my dumb routine. Hang the towel, plug the cell before bed, keep all the doors shut for power saving and controlling the heat so I don't get a damn overcharge on my monthly rent.

-“Enough, with the pointing out, with our habits.”

Doesn't it feel odd that you can't recall what has happened in the past few hours and how time has hardly moved? These feelings of uncertainty crawling up my fingers to the back of my spine feel more reassuring than speaking out loud. As the sensation passed, it leads to me standing (looking) at the second-floor stairs, this has always given me weird feelings, the railings seem to open just enough at the top that you can see eyes on you if you'd let the mind play games that way, that is to say, I do enjoy a game every once and awhile. Now more than any passing event with these stairs, I was more concerned with the fact I'm not hearing the creaks on the steps. The feeling of the steps is like muscle memory, I can tell anyone the exact spots the wood boards have warped to make the creaks, and yet there isn't any. That's not normal at all unless, in the moment of waking up, I've lost 130lbs and weigh as much as a cat, and am the least agile one alive.

Finally reaching the top step matching with the second-floor lights appearing through the windows into the bathroom and main room adjust the eyes depth of field. The sights around the second floor are no different than any apartment you'd find paying 640$ a month with no appliances, no-wash, or washing machine. The fact this place passed any health inspection or construction regulations is a laugh if not a cruel joke, although this place is in the heart of the city.

-“Finicky lights all-around take a step and you'll be bound to merge with the shadows!”

My god this place is no place like home, this is a house and I'm going crazy. The bathroom doors shut which is a good sign whenever I have someone over they usually leave it open and that's just the strangest of habits. My room's appearance is more gloomy and dry with the soulless wood attached to it, that's a good sign as it means no one or myself went into it. Because the sensation of dread coming off of my room is merely from the sight of the door, once you've had a chance to enter that room you feel a different atmosphere entirely. That room is like me, a rough surface and a calming and vulnerable interior, but why would a room be vulnerable because everything in there is made of precious materials and holds gentle meanings and would mean no harm towards the inhabitant in the space. I guess I'm describing my room as a nice and calm place to make myself feel better, but in all honesty, it's just an empty room, I watch movies and listen to music too.

-“None of this shit matters at this instance, trying to jog my mind is only leading into coves of distractions, I need to know why I'm so confused.”

Not only is it getting harder to think back, but the air up here is also starting to feel heavy, the presence all of a sudden has changed for the worse. This floor has never been a bother in the dark or even in candlelight and yet with the hallway light on it feels like the space is gradually getting darker. The second-floor window is too small for a person to enter and has no way to get into unless you purposely put a jumbo ladder beside the building. Now's not the time to get into thinking someone's in the house because I know that the front door is padlocked, the second door is closed and is still locked, and the only window available to get into the house is on the third-floor cubby space. That place has never been opened and still has nails holding it in place, even to this moment that square in the corner of the ceiling is inconceivable to the naked eye if pointed out.

-“Enough with this, all of this bullshit, god why is it so hard to think right now?”

Just go into the bathroom, splash some water in your face and maybe even take a shower, that'll do you good. Wasn't that the plan from the beginning, oh right genius thanks for pointing it out. Then go and do it instead of looking like a drooling mannequin! Walking over to the bathroom door is only a few feet away from the stairs, less than twenty steps away from the declining steps, and yet not one of my footsteps made a sound around the house, that is a little odd, but not the importance to the matter of the situation.

Entering the bathroom wasn't as dramatic as I made it to be in my head, I thought opening the door flicking the light switch would have been movie-worthy for a dramatic transition, and yet all it led to was myself staring into a god awful pale yellow bathroom. The sight of this bathroom turned me sick and I forgot what I was going to do entirely. Not a big surprise as I usually go autopilot when I enter this room, sink, toilet, tub, and out. Compelling as it is to turn out of this room, the mirror was the main attraction to my mind at the moment, the person staring into that portal was me, of course, it was me, no one else is me and for the weirdest of reasons, I feel as though this person is slightly off. The eyes are clear, never needed glasses even though I don't mind the look at all. The surface of my face is a bit drier than I like, but that's because I haven't showered or washed my face in who knows how many days back. My hair is just a bit messy, the length can be cut a bit, but that's not it, it's as if the person in the mirror isn't showing off all the natural features of what makes up me. Am I missing something important in this picture, I've always had a fear of mirrors, they seem to stare at you just enough that you can lose track of who's the one truly looking through to the real world or the mirror world. I don't want to be here right now, a shower can wait just a quick splash of water in the face and I'll head into my room, pick up my phone and get a bit of fresh air.

Maybe I'm crazy or my self-diagnosed OCD is really kicking in, my last goal in this stupid wake of a day is finding out I'm insane and just believing in anything my mind wants to attach to. [Oh, wouldn't that be great of all this maddening thinking I can recollect with the clearest sight is the fact I'm recalling all my habits with the most vivid point of actions, not only that I can tell how much of a robot I am in this house, isn't that like a humanoid or android wired to a cord how the actions in this house are the simplest repetitions, that it can be recognizable to the noises simplest distinctions.]

After stepping into my room I was able to realize one thing for certain my cell wasn't plugged in which is a big fault on me as I've gone probably 7 months without having my phone die, but it has 83% charge, so I haven't been asleep for too long and it says that today is Friday. Fuck so I have been asleep for long and I've missed three days of work shit, I'm going to lose my job for sure, but why was I asleep for so long this isn't normal, I'm not ill, no one's been in this house I have no missed calls or messages like I would have a lot of those anyways. Lonely old me can't even get to make a damn friend request on BudQ, but my contact list is still long so what I should do is message my boss and see what happens to me now, but I haven't been called so maybe keep it that way come on Monday and play it cool. Now that I got my second mind in my hand I can go get my keys in the pantry room and then head out for some fresh air maybe go to the corner store and get something to rehydrate on, apart from water, because my faucets are ass and the water department hasn't had the time and effort to make a small adjustment to my pipes, for all I know is information I learned on the internet. Heading back down the stairs I still can't realize what is truly taking over the atmosphere around me. Then I had the chance to finally enter the kitchen again and see that I still haven't put on any socks.

Lucky old-fashioned pantry room giving me always the best feelings as it's the only room in this entire place that feels like the ’60s during its least horrid times, giving off that smoking inside deep-voiced jazz music and gin ambiance. Like I'd know what that felt like apart from the so few films I've indulged into. Exiting that pantry always gives me the feeling of time travel and the lighting plays a part certainly since the walls are patterned in this faux brick wall mask. Getting to the front door after putting on my walking shoes, I realized that between the main door, the hallway, the kitchen, and the pantry not once did I hear my keys make a sound and I had it rapt around my index finger loosely and not one metallic click or thump had come out of it.

-“Have I gone deaf, no ha no chance about that at all, I've never played anything past the warning level in the devices instructions of any of my hearing devices and I've only been to a few concerts. That's okay I'm just in a weird headspace, plus I live in a pretty loud part of town so no need to worry.”

As the door handle turned and the back of the handle closed to the lock socket, all came clear. The leaves blowing around, the cars brushing by like mechanical ants, the squirrels running and jumping around on the trees, all seemed well and working their function as usual, except for the mental absence of the sound. Not only did it feel otherworldly, the sounds I am supposed to hear aren't there, my mind is trying so hard to place all the noises I would usually hear, but there's nothing not one source of vibrations in my fucking eardrums. The world around me seems to have gone blank and I've become numb to the sounds around me, now more than ever I can say I've gone insane and since my wake, I've been losing my mind and hearing. Slowly realizing this fear, this form of elevated panic, I rushed to my contact list and called Mom and Dad, to tell them something was wrong, but the phone didn't ring or answer. The phone went to voicemail and nothing was emitted from my speakers, I have lost it, I have actually lost it. My hearing is gone and I can't tell why it happened and what was the occurrence of my past 3 days. As my breathing started to become more and more shaken I realized how loud my mind had gone and my panic turned into an internal screech loud enough to burst out my eardrums and have a few drops of blood leaking out of my ears and lead to my loss of entire balance. Afterward, everything turned black and I had allowed the silence to comfort my mind into a trail of infinite replays to what I could have done in the past 3 days. And forever will I be wondering what truly happened to not only my absence but also my absence in the ability to hear even the slightest of fear I must have emitted through my last few breaths.

Title: The Cave

By Emmanuel Jones

August, 10th, 2020

Finalized January, 25th, 2022

Preface: I’ve never been one to make judgments on pictures and stories and yet this one painting I had an idea for required the story behind it to be told because should I keep it shut maybe I would go mad from the need of the Cave.

Seaside of a small town no more than a few hundred, the weather gives off a fog covering the far mountains. The times of late have been more quiet and heavy to the town's people, it brings a sense of great sadness to the hearts of the young. In the far-off corner of the town is a mountain told to have a cave hidden with secrets, but the town's young believe that the mountain is the home to a legend. Every few nights on a full moon one who dares be curious goes off to see if this legend is true, but every time none ever returns. The area around the mountain is known to have many creeks and springs. Plantlife seems deformed and dead yet continues to grow. The townspeople are starting to think that their children are going to visit the mountain. As the talk about the mountain becomes more present among the adults, the elders become wary of what will come.

"It's time for me to go and see this mountain, says one of the town's elders during a meeting discussing the new concerns velled over the parents of young ones. People were afraid of what is to come of this and tried many times to stop the elder, but in the end, the elder left for the cave. Not without a final stern meeting of a few townsmen awaiting at night to be certain of the elders' decision. When the elder had reached the cave, all that came to mind was agony and fear, for it was completely dark and there was no sign of any footprints leading into this cavernous abyss. Looking past the darkness in the cave the elder felt like something was calling them in, and took one last look at the town gleaming with subtle flickers of lights and smoke probably from the men interacted with hours before, the elder took one last long look and ventured forth. The elders did not make it back to the town, but neither did they leave the cave alive.

The truth of the matter is this cave more suited to be a cavern or even a pit with no end, is known to have always taken the lives of those who enter, but has never let anything leave it as well. The cave has various traps that have been built into it, some for defense and some for the offense. But as time has passed the cave is now only keeping whatever is inside away from the people. No one knows the truth of the cave and of how it came to be, what were the purposes of these contraptions and why was it only to keep those that visit within never leave. There is no sign of the ones who entered it, and those who have now entered are ghosts in the cave. Whisper by the dead is known to be calling on the next visitor to find them and maybe just maybe help them understand what was truly in that cave for curiosities sake or for closure from these lands.

As years go by the town's people never learn from those that went and every so often someone will traverse into the cave. It’s almost become a habit to see one develop the call for the cave and no one knows who is next, but when it is their turn to go off, there are no traces of them ever even visiting the Cave.

Title Vigil Blinds

By Emmanuel Jones

October, 3rd, 2021

Extended & Completed; January, 25th, 2022

Preface: I really love the walks I take at night and with the recent events going on my hours to do so were cut quite short, but it looks like the curfews are gone and I can walk outside at night again. This short story came to mind when I was walking my dog and a window shadow played a trick to my eyes. I still have long to go with my literature visualization and understanding of writing in general, so do be warned by the flaws in my writing.

It’s a little past midnight and the streets are silent as scheduled for the past few months. As every night nears its end I walk my dog for certainty no mistakes will happen when I wake the next day. The temperature has gotten rapidly low since the global climate has taken extensive growth. Usually bringing my phone near-empty makes me aware that I’ll have to sleep no matter what. Luckily the night walks don’t last too long and I have my phone to flash some light whenever my buddy is ready to poop. The only issue tonight of all nights is, I wasn’t prepared to expect my phone battery to last longer than I was and much longer than any night so far.

The streets seemed much more dormant than usual and I wish I'd had never noticed it. The houses were mostly empty lights off and blinds shut, so why of all the things that make anything right did the houses I felt eyes coming from have their windows fully exposed and willing to be checked into. I've never been a fan of staring into people's homes and yet my instincts kept on telling me to look around and once I did the sensation of something terrible crawled over me entirely. I started to make a mental map of each home that was open for interior display and it seemed to follow every other home to keep an eye out. As time went on during the walk and my sense of dread and claustrophobic feeling of tight breathing rose, my little boy had finally pooped, and damn was I scared by what happened next.

I've forgotten to remind you that I have always walked these streets at the dead of night and have never seen a person nor car pass me in months of doing this routine. So tell me why was there a person not only inches away from me, but also getting both myself and my dog off guard and in the most fragile pajama onesie fathomable. Eyes popping out I thought they were on springs and the cold air making the sweat on their face look like stained glass and the dimed street light making the teeth have a horrid glow to them. I was certain to have looked into a ghost with skin as pale as Bleach white paint right out of the cant. I couldn't stop thinking in that instance how and where did this person come from I can't even make out their age, but they appeared ancient.

Words started to come out of their mouth, except they all fell flat and I couldn't manage to grasp any of them. I had already ended picking up all the shit my dog just laid out so I just took a quick glance to see how my buddy was and he was at full alert for a good reason because the moment I glanced back this freak was just a centimeter away from my face staring into the deepest cavities of my eye sockets. The surprise knocked me off my feet and I fell over the damn dog leach only to look up and see no one around. I glanced frantically and this ghost of a shell of a person was gone and I just couldn’t rest my concern of being in some type of danger. The air around us was still and frigid leaving a cloud of breath every time I started to hyperventilate, even trying to slow down my breath didn’t stop the bread crumbs of fear-filled clouds.

Walking as quickly as possible and silently I paced myself against the odds of waking anyone and encountering that freakishly inhuman presence. My dog was calm, yet much more vigilant than ever and gave off the only appearance of a hunt or be hunted game of tag. I wasn’t gaining any type of calm and finally got onto the final curb near my street and mistakenly forgotten the windows with the eyes giving off mounts of fear to my spine. The first few houses seemed odd, but no concern, until moments later I felt like my eyes played a trick on me and I noticed the old figure walking through the open window frames. I couldn’t tell if it was my fear taking a toll on my eyes or the dread of trying to sleep after this night, but I was certain to have seen movement the next house down. The shadow was faint and the movement was otherworldly as if it was projected from a tormented paper cut-out animation made for cryptic evils not of here. Out of the corner of my eye, there was movement in the other home I saw with the window uncovered and now I was certain that this was no longer my eyes playing tricks on me and the old corpse was tailing me. The urge to just run at the speed I could only have performed at the tip-top shape I had in college was the only thing on my mind, except I knew my buddy on four legs would most likely fall down being as he’s of a smaller breed. The pace of our walk had already picked up and little did I know by a few houses down we were at a full sprint and the concerns of my dog disappeared. After clearing what felt like 30 homes with eyes and a dancing demon, there was my little home and only the need of a lock and key and sanctuary is ours.

What a fool I was to think it was so simple to get away from this fearsome amalgamation of a being in human glazed skin. It only took a few seconds to unlock the front door and enter, yet it felt like every second was minutes in hell. I had my back to the outdoors and that thing could appear at any moment. My breathing froze and somehow my dog was looking at me with a face of wonder and displeasure as it seemed I was in a frantic daze and had been in the house front this whole time just breathing with tears running down my eyes. The tears being a first in a long time were definitely those of fear and pain from the sharp cold air. Once I was able to ground myself and realize it’s the home stretch to just make sure the front door is locked and call someone about this event, the worst dawned on me. This thing was able to leap through homes and appear around the back of ous without any warning, which would promise that my home is the one protected and not one of its hopscotch windows. I had no time to think of what could possibly happen and what this thing is capable of, so I went for the door and checked the lock and handle.

During this moment of security, my dog was barking at the top of his lungs and I was in slow motion tilting my eye up to the peephole which was the last window between us and the creature. My eye locked into the tunnel and as if there was no distance between us and the door was no more I was magnified to the ancient skin and saw deep into the eye of something looking no longer at me, but actually into what it plans to expose and the thoughts of fear to the world of the night.

Disatiated Except Why?

Emmanuel Jones

February, 9th, 2022

Preface: I’m not sure why I feel certain ways about certain things and maybe that’s just part of the way of life. We wake and do what must be done to satisfy the body and mind then go to sleep and repeat, the only thing that changes is the scale of which part needs to be satisfied. I am an artist and for a long time even now I feel like an artificial embodiment of what the world believes is to be an artist, what are we apart from crazies unafraid of taking a lunge to make what we can only say through our creations or individuals who like to be alone and reminisce our philosophical thoughts about this and that or everything. I may be great to some or none, yet this melancholic feeling is what came to be to this story for which tomorrow I may have a different balance to this view.

Enjoy and take the time to think about what today has brought you in place; mentally & physically.

The light wasn’t bright enough for the smoke to show as I usually like it to be just as I’ve seen it in the movies. I don't smoke anymore and I actually never really did, it was more of a social thing and maybe an aesthetic appeal. My time in this room has developed to be more mundane and it's been giving me an itch that I can hardly handle more than a few days. I mean look at the bodies of work I have made, some people will never achieve that level of creative production, but then why do I feel so inadequate. It could be the fact that all that I have made so far haven’t gotten the approval financially or socially like the world wants it to be. I’m a few days away from rent and even though I work best under pressure I can’t fathom the act of taking some shitty job for some dead-end place. I don’t mean any hate towards the average working-class trying to make do with the average, I just physically can’t do it for the life of me, I might end up homeless before I take a corporate job and many would call me out as insane for standing by it. To those people I say go ahead, I am a hard worker and by all that there is an overachiever, I have done my fair share of hard labor and menial task to have the right of wanting to do what satisfies my want to work for a living.

“Damn the lighting from the curtains right now have this perfect glow to them the type you see with only strong lighting and all darkness surrounding it, I can see the lights coming through from it perfectly as individual strands.”

I mean I clearly like certain things and dislike other things just as everyone else and yet I feel alone, maybe that’s the crux of being an artist you don’t get fully understood. I sometimes don’t fully understand myself and think that it's a party of two or three maybe a few, I just roll with it. I miss the times I had vices it helped with these dull moments of uncertainty, yet at the very least I have my fascination for aesthetics all though I don’t like to admit some of them are more bougie than the unpaid artist can say. I have never traveled for clear reasons of financial incapabilities which all play to my part, but I’ll firmly dispute the reasons why it's the corporate and financial development of the past 30 years. Heck people don’t like hearing the facts that we are all being played for fouls financially and the money in our pockets is the scraps the rich still want to obtain. I digress with such big scholarly words, why don’t I have a job already, “well because I’m an artist ha”, and that is the reason why I feel so hollow at the moment or maybe it’s because I’ve been inside for so long.

I do enjoy the outdoors as every other jogger does and I’m not avoiding it because of my landlord, it’s because I just feel demotivated with the longing dull of being unable to do the things I have been indoctrinated to want. The objects of society's ideals have no real need for me, but it’s no ones’ fault for the fact I’ve been brainwashed into wanting them. It was in every form of information or entertainment source growing up how could we all not be taught what is the ideals to happiness. I mean it's pretty obvious that we are easily manipulated by repetition at a young age and it's so disheartening to see that people are fine by doing so to us. Maybe it is the philosophical mindset of an artist or maybe a genuine idea made to be spoken with others in discourse, but I think that we all have been played a foul and have more challenges to overcome with more than just brute force and clever breathing technics.

“Why did I start this [...] oh yeah, because of today’s idea that came up of all days”

I don’t need to clarify the reason why it came up, there can be so many ways to assume how, but then am I leading that part out to build up tension or interest, I don’t know go ask a linguistic scholar about that part. I never did explain the type of works I make and maybe it is for the best of all of us it stays that way because at the end of the day I’m just an artist and nothing else by it. I have no vices and haven’t spent a proper time with another person in about a week's time, I could be going mad or I might be dead if no one knows about my absence. I am like the tree that has fallen and no one is around to hear it fall, anyways this all came up about this sickening feeling and I wanted to share this new idea about it. Here alone in this dwelling I have beautiful aesthetic visuals and audios playing to keep me satisfied and yet it doesn’t make this itch feel scratched. The feeling and emotions from this scenario are like no other, I’ve done therapy I know a bit of psychology so then what could it be not that of depression until it hit me.

It's the embodiment of none satiated living in its purest form, I mean I have a place to live, bodies of work that once I die should put me with the rest of some greats in my region or even the world, and yet this is what it has come to.

I am in this pendulum of wanting and unwanting the attention of this matter to be discussed by masses of thinkers and that in itself troubles me more, it makes that itch even more difficult to reach. I’m no more important than of a fly on a wall in a nicely lit dwelling with some freshly brewed tea by the stranger's side as they write. I wish to explain this status as clearly as possible and yet I am afraid I shall ruin its unique presence on the individuals it falls upon.

“After a few minutes ruminating I made up my mind to try and describe it, but don’t blame me if it hasn’t satisfied that itch of curiosity.”

Place yourself in a room like that of which you have always been comfortable, nothing too extravagant and yet not too bothersome to want to change rooms, the temperature is ideal and the status of your body is full, quenched, filled to the brim mentally for the day. You haven’t any need of rest and there is still much time to go before the bed calls for you, you haven’t the need to do errands or call on anyone, no more entertainment, and yet this dull has come over you. The room is gleaming in colours like every other day, yet the gleams feel a bit distant your eyes aren’t watery no need to cry for nothing, so why do the sounds around you, your favorite song not give you the same sense of satisfaction. It is as if the world around you has gone afar and taken a trip to another realm without you on the list, you aren’t sad in the least actually you still feel joy and contempt about what is to come tomorrow, this is just the feeling of now, not even the whole day. Just for this moment, you feel this dreed of an itch not one to scratch or rub, just to soothe and get on with life. This moment that can be only for a few minutes or a few hours has you wondering about all in what has brought you in life.

The best of what I can think of is over now because the more I think of it the more it starts to run away from me, my apologies for the abrupt end, but it was a thought and one that when you end up at this period, it will leave you wondering for a good number of days to come and every so often in the years to go you’ll think back to that un-satiated self. Why and what was that feeling of being so un-satiated meant for the great scheme of things to life, maybe we’ll never truly know until the next time it occurs.