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...