Painful patients. The more I wait, the more I hurt, and the more I forget the more I distance myself. If there was a way for me to separate myself from my emotions I would. But we are human, so the likely is impossible. These are the things that I think about, these are the things that are relevant. Not papers, nor essays, busywork. Bullshit.
But my emotions… things I cannot ignore within me, like demons at the bottom of a pit, that your shovel cant reach. Ive witnessed malice, and your sounds at night, in the corners of my room. How can I not be honest with my self and with you. If I did not I would be doing a disservice to the truth, they intruige me while causing a racket in my mind. This is the cause for my drawings, this is the cause for my love for Loki, this is the cause for my fragile thoughts. And the only word I can use to describe them, is lurking. They did the same for Edgar Allen Poe, and Ralph Waldo Emerson and for all humans. A part of me, appreciates these demons because they are the spark for creativity. We chase them to try and describe our selves. It is an undeniable itch that goes on for a life time, and every second of our lives, we continually itch away and never fully get it, until we sing the last breath. Many say that I am good with my words, passionate at my love play, music and art…. But it is just a scratch at the itch, which will amuse me for the rest of my damned life. And if I live, than I will do it in a fashion that the very essence of vicariousness will laugh at the way I go about. For the sake of being.
-Ezequiel Olvera
