You are right, happened here as well, art somehow diluted its meaning when the illusion of freedom became more pervasive. I personally found out about myself that the biggest pains distilled the best insights. Damn crap, I know.

I wish myself a beach of permanent warm weather, fearing I’d loose touch with whatever is inside that makes me willing and eager for a mental breakthrough. Breakthrough, not breakdown.

However, I know with fact like decisiveness that what happens in reality is that what we called freedom or “being relaxed” or “having fun” or worse “balancing work and life” is just a new board in the same old game, and this is what in effect kills off joy.

You see, joy is what makes good art work and when dictatorships and disasters roam the land we know happiness is not achievable, therefore we settle for joy and start creating as means to enjoy existence.

Then in the “free” world we swap joy for the pursuit of happiness.

And that, well that is a mood killer, all the stress and the comparison and class wars and staggering inequality all make us less human and more primate. And what are inane pop songs but the monoglutamate of music?

I write so you feel like you’ve just had an idea. It’s a nice feeling.

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