i am becoming a stark-eyed cat, cornered animal, where the lights are steaming heat bulbs of flowering anger and i cannot handle this strain on my soul … it is as if a confident fingertip has access and i am feeling the pressure upon my organs, a waiting autopsy of disconnected moments … everything here is slightly removed, we are taught to be objective and i am finding where “objectivity” is just another word for face without emotion, heart without passion, mind without rhetoric … how can one be so removed from their art and where it comes from? i try to find a solace in these facts and histories, i am not a passive person … i am not passive-aggressive either, nor do i enjoy forced self-expression … yet i seem to be fighting those same sort of tendencies … a teacher i thought of as one of my favorites last semester recently told me one cannot be belligerent when defending one’s own artwork, implying i had exhibited such potential qualities … is questioning the questioner an act of insolent defiance? i am told by my fellow classmates that i am the only one that will stick up for my artowrk during our art critique .. this is not sitting well in my stomach … this directed pushing is not welcome … i used to know who i was before all of this … doubt is again folding its arms around my neck … i don’t look out the window as much as i used to … that is my true inspiration though … the cycling of self, reacting with the environment, reading of philosophy and poetry … two things i have not been able to indulge in these sleepless, worried nights … shaking hands … i am getting migraines from all this, and i despise medicinal comfort .. i must do a lot of rethinking i believe …