For some artists, art is what drives him to suicide. For others, art is the sole thing that prevents him from suicide. Why is this?

Another school year starts at the yard.

I used to be under the misguided impression (or assumption) that musicians and artists do what they do because they value an artistic aesthetic over financial stability - basically, that we care about happiness over money.

But I think I was wrong. All my friends from Berkeley are at heart, happier than most of my true artist-friends. Why is this?

Musicians (the true artist ones, at any rate) are plagued with the inexplicable obsession with some contorted late-19th century ideology of human suffering as a form of romanticism. Maybe this explains why so many of our personal lives are one big fucking mess. Are we addicted to the emotional pain of the starving romantic? We do not what is healthy or logical for us, but instead, what we feel. To feel. Feel. Why are we obsessed with feeling? Be it pain, extasy, nostalgia, joy, whatever. We yearn to feel.

Did I do all I could do tonight? It's 5am; wondering and worrying...

Again. Kaufman. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Why.

Maybe because at the end, Kaufman decides that Joel Barish decides to make the same mistake again (out of pure emotional contact); fully aware of the disastrous consequences.

Surrealism. This screenplay is surreal.

It's Saturday night and I'm sick.

I think, having been doing reading for the last few hours on early-20th century philosophies of thought regarding art, that the substantial core of my emotional being generally yearns for expressionism - that I spend my life resolving the dialectic between thought and feeling, painstaikingly hoping that the latter may bring me some soul-based freedom from the aesthetic (or in life, we probably just refer to it as the hedonistic)...but in life. That made no sense, did it.

But most people know I love to write, and reading through my own writing - there is nothing expressionistic about it...it wreaks of nihilism, depressive discourse, and the grumpy sort of existentialism where everybody realizes there's nothing to look forward to in the end.

Kandinsky - I love him; Concerning the Spiritual in Art. Camus, Dostoevsky, Sartre....I don't like those guys.

How do you write; and how do you play? And whom do you admire? What kind of music, art, and literature are you drawn to? If those aspects of your life don't reflect each other...perhaps you are genuinely unhappy...

Sarah Palin fills me with violent, enraged, depressive, passionately vindictive tendencies.

Girls fucking blow.

Were those two statements linked or mutually exclusive?

Everybody has personal problems. Let's face it. Everybody thinks they've been hurt badly in the past. Everybody thinks they have baggage. Everybody thinks they know what it means to be absolutely miserable. It's cliche and taboo at this age to even bitch and moan about what kind of problems you might be having with him or her.

But sometimes life sucks so much, it's too painful to endure.

I guess I'll go practice.