Autocommunicative burden

The emotive cheese

I am begrieved by a loss of words, and can only think of pictures that I want to take, voices I want to record, music I
want to play, films I want to make, objects and places and faces and gestures and light and eyes and glances and
essences i want to record (we must come up with a better word than 'essence'). This is the autocommunicative
burden. What's more, there is only one person (or two, three?) that I want to reveal it all to. What happens when
that person is the object of one's own silence, and doesn't know the difference. It all becomes emotive cheese
because it all becomes selfish or something pop-sentimental like that. This is why I want to create--to serve others.
Any discussion about why we feel the need to create is a parody--it has become a cliche, disdainful, and absurd. I
really hate the world of artists and architects. I don't want that prize and I'm fed up with their discussions on the
meaning of art, why they would die if unable able to create, the reasons for expression and shit like that. It's
hollow, and I am fearful of that art world because it is all hollow by the same vanity. And it is lonely. So lonely is that
art world that so many become duped into. A melancholic wishes to keep his reasons to create to himself, and to God,
and to the person that still--still (can you believe it!?)--manages to invoke the emotive cheese. Then it becomes service
to that singular, remarkable one. The person, the persons, those fellows, thanes, companions, lovers, ....

Chanson du jour: Requiem for a Dream (Clint Mansell), Lux Aeterna