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We looked inside some of the posts by quinar and here's what we found interesting.
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Wow, I guess dreams can actually come true in this beautiful, stupid world.
Been crying almost non-stop for two days over Amphibia's finale. Who knew I had it in me to be such a sentimental crybaby. Great cartoon, 10/10, would bawl my eyes out again.
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Oh man, I wish it was as easy to cry for me as it is for characters during an emotional resolution at the end of an episode in a cartoon for preteens
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Shatter it into pieces. Tear it into shreds. Throw it! Break it!! Destroy it!!! Leave nothing standing!!!! idfk chew on it or someshit aaaaaa!!! Gaaaaaaaaaah!!!! I have no ways of expressing myself other than this dumb bullshit!!!!!!! I'm so cooked ahahehdjanrnakef4ljne
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I need to break something right now. Ughhhhh why do I have nothing worthless enough to be broken without regretting it lying around gngekrjgmergletg
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I can't do it. Can I do it? Maybe. Yet I'm not doing it. I should be able to do it. I've done it before. But I can't do it, not anymore.
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Gah, where has all my patience gone??? I'm antsy to draw most of the time these days. It used to be so much easier... I've lost something important in these past 3 or so years.
Aaaaaahhh why is everything so fucking difficult!!
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This week was good, by the way. Today as well, but I couldn't help to feel a little sad. I guess it's just a force of habit at this point, but that's fine. It wasn't this dreadful, oppressing sadness like usual, but rather something bittersweet. Perhaps, this is how my brain interprets contentment.
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So, like, since I have zero ideas and also no artistic identity whatsoever, I figured I'm just gonna copy other people's art in my sketchbook. It's simple, it's stupid, it's fun. I need to put something down on paper, I still constantly feel that pull, and since my brain prohibits me from doing it how normal people do, it's the best next thing.
Don't know what's the consensus of the wider artistic community on such topics, but eh.
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I'm 23, and I still haven't done anything worthwhile in or with my life.
I'm eternally miserable, incapable of just letting go and enjoying the ride, but I'm also not one of those "tormented geniuses" who create something great in spite of their inability to reach happiness.
I am just. Nothing. 23 years of nothing. 23 years of wasted potentional, wasted time. 23 years of pointlessly worrying and shedding tears.
What a weird number, 23 is. I don't like being 23. Oh well, this is one thing the unstoppable marching of time can help me with. God bless. Can't wait to become even more of nothing! 24 years of nothing! 25 years of nothing! 30 years of nothing!
Surely, filling another post with my incessant whining will make me feel better...
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I know I'm yelling into the void here, but can somebody explain to me how do I stop caring about the quality of what I create??? People are always telling that you gotta shut your inner critic and just make stuff for the sake of it, but how?? do you do that????? I think I will never understand. I'm forever bound by the desire to do "good", even though not once in my life have I succeeded at doing so!!! If everything I do sucks ass, then where did I even get this notion from? This is ridiculous. I'm incompetent, stupid, uncreative, and just plain no good at anything. How come I still haven't come to terms with this, after all these years? Why can't I just settle for what I have?
I can't be something I am not, I can't change what I am, and I can't accept myself for what I am. My mind is in constant state of conflict!!! I can literally feel different parts of my brain wrestle with each other as I write this.
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Grazing animal (no clue what's playing in the background)
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low quality photos of goober cuz my phone camera was busted at the time
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It's difficult to hope. It's exhausting to persevere. But I've been doing nothing but giving in to the voice of hopelessness for so long. I already know that giving up sucks. I should listen to what other parts of my inner self have to say for a change. See with my other eye.
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I've never felt alone. I was kinda forced to spend a lot of time at home as a child, but I still had a number of afterschool activities. I was an introverted kid, yet I still made friends. At any rate, that's how I have been living my life so far: being on my own, but surrounded by good friends who are always there for me. It always seemed enough for me.
But that hole in my heart I came to associate with artistic urges and indaquacies and whatnot is always there, aching and making me feel listless and lost. But what if it isn't about art at all. What if I'm just lonely? I have no tools to even start reflecting on this possibility.
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My vice is searching for a piece of music which awakens sadness most profound within me. Somber, quiet sadness. Stifled tears raining down into an abyss to be never seen by anyone. I am afraid of good emotions. The promise of joy terrifies me, it strains my unraveled nerves. I avoid it like fire. Instead, my heart seeks satisfaction in sadness.
I want my heart shredded into pieces. I want it dead by a million cuts, by a million sensations of little sadness. At some point, feeling sad just starts feeling good. And if you can't feel The Proper Joy, then it's the next best thing, I guess.
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You know what making art means, right.
It means creating something that incapsualutes your own feelings and emotions. Offloading these pesky feelings, so they become someone else's problem.
But I can't deal with this shit. I feel too much. I feel nothing. I have a gaping hole inside of me. I have a heart made of glass. Nothing affects me, I am made of stone and spikes. I cried over a goofy-sounding song today, my soul trembles at the slightest touch.
Frankly, I get the impression that I'm starting to go insane
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