Part II of my cruel revival, this is shorter and less edited but more developed than my previous post. Here I dissect the question of motivation at large. Enjoy!
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I’ve spent countless nights willingly feeding my soul to the
toiling of ostensible failure, digitally submitting my life as I search for its
very definition. What is it about my emotional discharge that fascinates me so?
What is it inside of me that forces me to exit my fantasy and begin to pour
myself onto digital canvas? It is my unwillingness to conform to the forgotten body
that is my generation? It is my unending effort’s fruition that, although
seemingly forced, causes me to record these fleeting gasps of breath as they
radiate from the recent corpse that is my creative instinct. Who am I kidding?
I just want to become famous and remain unforgotten whence my corporeal form
has returned to the soil from which it came. I only want to live long enough to
see my constructs bury me, and only then will I be able to slip into the sands
and rest under their dunes.
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