I’m at an ending. Everything I fought for – I see it in context, doesn’t matter. My voice is irrelevant – therefore, it’s the end for me. I’d say – painting, as a medium is inconsequential…or that it is, in itself, the sole meaning of what it seeks. I don’t want to politicize beauty. It’s wrong. And if you don’t think I’m beautiful, you missed the point. Society destroys innocence. It feeds on pain. You can’t SAY anything and have a voice. Our society isn’t about that. It’s about grand-standing and shame. I’m bowing out. I lost everything. My own conceit – my own need to be meaningful destroyed my life. It’s a good feeling to know it. It’s not like I had much of a chance anyway. At least now I’ll be more efficient at sorting who/what I will tolerate. These are opinions, and it’s all heading to disaster. The meaning is connection…achievement itself, is a construct. Who are you to be popular with? People who don’t do anything. What do they know anyway? You tell me something is meaningful – I’ll tell you about who is dying for you to say so. I’ve seen it. It’s collapsing. So what’s a poor painter going to be able to do about any of it? Nothing. That’s always been the reality. People create this horrorscape. You either get played in it, you’re part of it or you’re naive. It’s destruction and it’s going to get a lot worse. What does liberalism do for me? It shits on my sacrifice. I just want to go home. I just want to be held. I feel broken. They don’t call it pain-ting for nothing.