Paper Craft is Back
Paper Craft is Back
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I want to work on this dispatch from the train, yet part of the screen is blocked by my lion-maned dependent, while a massive headache clouds my consciousness. I always call these kinds of headaches massive, as if they are some heavy blocks falling on me.
The massive square heavy cinderblock headache.
A nap seems like a better option than never-ending editing and creating - doing something that I call my work - something I haven't got paid a dime for so far - something that seems important to me and nobody else.
I look outside the imaginary train window and see millions of people who seem just like me. And yet, I want to believe I am different. And so do they.
Creating as a form of expression, as a form of saying what you want to say - not as a pretty beautiful thing everyone wants to look at. What is this pretty little thing? Something that is made in a country that makes it all? Something that 99% of the world's population cannot afford to pay for? Something that nobody needs to pay for since it's all around us.
So what do I expect at the end of this journey? What does somebody whose stomach is full and whose pockets are empty expect from creativity? Appreciation? Understanding? Reward for an effort put in?
But is it all pretend, child's play? Then again, isn't life…? Only there's a difference when a creator plays alone or with others.
At a Universal scale, it is all the same; only from an Earthly point of view does it matter a lot.
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