Paralyzed in Twilight

It’s gotten to the point where I really just enjoy following others on social media – artists, that is – but the idea of posting my work there actually makes me queasy now.

The independence gained back from not putting myself out there every day and every hour can’t be underestimated. Slowly, I seem to be feeling more like myself, the way I felt before I was distracted by the mad dash of all that self-publicity. Today, prompted by an excellent account I follow called The Giaour, I read a short story by Oscar Wilde called The Fisherman and His Soul. It reminded me of things I used to read in childhood, all these fairytales with elaborate descriptions, such as books and stories by George MacDonald. This was a BIG achievement, considering how eroded my attention span has gotten since I got drawn into the social media perpetual blab trap.

While I’m gaining back my peace of mind, I am also absolutely sapped of energy for doing something as interesting and as helpful as The Wrong Biennale, which a friend of mine I met through my online film community, Lau Focarazzo, is participating in so beautifully. One day, perhaps, after I’ve gotten my sea legs back, hosting such a thing would be a true pleasure.

It seems that there is still hope in the world, there is still a chance at an egalitarian artistic community without power borders. This is a pleasant surprise for me today.

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