Guess it's about that time eh chaps? ...Righto.

This song I hear, it plays all day for me,
With every minute, a new melody,
Each word is new, each word cries out to me,
Each word is fear, each word is liberty.

But I...
Don't wanna tell you how I feel,
Don't wanna tell you why I dooo,
Don't wanna tell you what feels real,
But don't wanna treat this like it's new.

Don't wanna lose the days we've had,
Don't wanna have you feeling sad,
Don't wanna make you think I've lied,
But I gotta let you know how much I've cried.

I've cried, I've cried,
Those tearless soulful cries,
Wake up, shake it off, dry those eyes,
Man up, try again, chin to the skies.

- - - - - - - - -

Clearly i'm not a musician, nor a poet. I am fatigued after only one verse. After this semester I will have to undergo some 'literary conditioning.'

Today I watched Frida, again. I focused on the dialogue where Frida exclaimed that what separates her from the artist is that her paintings only speak of her personal pain. She was corrected and shown that her art displays the pain that we all feel which is why her canvas speaks to us all. With me, my problem is the opposite. Where she failed to understand that her pain is shared by others, I know this to be true of my pain all too well. I convert my frustrations into the domestic currency we call words and offer them to the general public in hopes of measely returns. What I now need to do is to paint; paint not a future for myself, but simply an experience. An experience of my own, of our own.