There are far too many invisible moments in our existence- or so we perceive. In order to
tolerate the loneliness of that invisibility it is adapted to as a comfort. I
justify it as solitude and a retreat from humanity’s wretch. The fact that we
are ignored as artists as well as humans is something I am forced to
consolidate in my mind and heart. I am so constantly dismissed I create a
pattern that makes my lack of significance concrete to me. It must be
universal. Is it really? When asked for my personal contribution on anything,
why would I ever assume it will have any more of an impact than it had in the
past. Why? Because I realize not one thing in this universe does not impact the
whole.
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