Why do I have to feel like this? I’d claim it isn’t fair but the world has no distinction between what we consider fair game. I have nothing intelligent to say that hasn’t already been said. Nothing I create will be acknowledged until it attacks the concept of a fad, either embracing it or denying it (and therefore creating a new fad of despising popular fads). I don’t want to create for other people. I want people to see the worth in what I have made. Criticism come freely and help me along. Someone acknowledge these things I put so much of my essence into. Please, somebody care. I’ve been fuelled on my own certainty for so long and now it’s running low. I don’t know what to do. Every thought can rise me further if it chooses; every thought can water the seeds of doubt if it chooses. I sit here on a Saturday, writing things nobody will read. I used to love Saturdays. I had the epiphany that for many years past childhood I have continued to be a child. Many things make sense because of it.