“You don’t really need people, do you? Your world is so colorful and exciting that you don’t need anyone to enjoy it.”
Or perhaps it’s better to avoid reality altogether — just in case it seeps in and ruins the view, right?
Besides, people like me — those whose heads are filled with vivid, scented stories twenty-four hours a day and who find inspiration in absolutely anything — shouldn’t really go out among people. We never end up well. First, we stumble around, utterly lost in the dull, everyday world. Then, we probably fail miserably at dealing with real humans and make complete fools of ourselves. Like when we babble for hours about something nobody cares about — say, those self-adhesive felt pads you stick under chair legs that finally silenced every chair in the house. They even protect the floor from scratches. And they’re soft too — soft enough to caress a face with.
If you were completely out of your mind, that is.
Or simply in the mood for it.
Artists are all a bit detached anyway. Some sort of half-mad creatures who can’t tell the difference between their imagination and reality. Dreamers, who think the world will one day see and recognize them — while others are out there doing real work. With blood, sweat, and tears. Not living off illusions or other people’s effort.
Because surely someone must make sacrifices for these so-called artists — sacrifices they’ll never be able to repay. How could they? With a drop of drool escaping from the corner of their mouth while daydreaming? Or with their little “creation” that no one gives a damn about? Who on earth cares what these artist types make? Let’s not even mention that aimless writhing they call dancing… like a primitive mating ritual to all those squeaks and clatters people insist on calling music.
Wouldn’t it be much better to live without books, jewelry, beautiful clothes, music, or paintings?
To work yourself to the bone and surround yourself only with functional objects?
Who needs stories when we have the news?
Who needs music when silence sounds so beautiful?
Or pictures on the wall ? Isn’t it better bare, without all that decorative clutter?
Jewelry? Oh, please! Is appearance really more important than substance?
And those joke-telling monkeys! Who the hell wants to laugh after a long day?
Who wants to be irritated by other people’s pointless wriggling to loud music?
Who needs frills when there’s nothing more soothing than a perfectly balanced, minimalist order?
Yes, my world is colorful and exciting.
But it’s the people who make it that way — through the experiences they bring me, the pleasant ones and the painful ones alike.
I love reading. I love beauty. Music and dance make me feel alive.
A glance that cuts deep.
Laughter that delights you down to your cells.
Silence that gives space to thought.
And noise — where sometimes the most beautiful melody is born.
I am an artist. A writer.
A creator who exists in several languages, across different communities and platforms.
I write stories. Sometimes I reach for eroticism, other times for humor, but it all begins in reality.
When I truly want to recharge, I dance.
Or I just watch the professionals do it.
Every corner of my life is interwoven with other people’s lives. Some more closely, some more loosely.
And yes, those little felt pads you stick under chair legs? Absolutely brilliant invention.