Born in the Spotlight
The trick, you see, is to either accept the line between reality and perception, or blur it completely. There is no in-between for me, which is, I suppose, why I gulp down extremes as though I haven’t eaten in days. I am able to accept the wandering of my mind as my greatest hobby, creating stories, beliefs, new religions, as my classes pass by around me with the world. Then, I can bring this forth and show people my great entertainment. I put on my hat, and pull the rabbit out, and suddenly, I become those wanderings as myself. I become their mirror, and the mirror of my audience, and the false mirror of reality. The joy this brings me is untouchable, incapable, misunderstood when I am not within it. Oh, how I miss it! How my heart aches and my eyes beg me to sleep when I cannot muster this from the depths of my visions. But the artist cannot do this. The art, if you can call it that, that I create cannot do this. I can come up with stories, beliefs, religions, but only as a true mirror of reality. I can only depict the world as it is, not how it could be. For, with art, escape isn’t depicted in greatness, but instead, the dirt and gravel stuck in your wounds and the blood dripping from your palms, sinking into the stones of the earth. Even as the world changes, the monsters often don’t. And if they do, and reality detaches, then the artist must become the monster attached to their mind. The Devil whispers to them and tells them what they must do, to create the shadows of the world, to depict greatness.