the movement is growing. I think I'm going to keep all of the used ones. only one survived...the rest must have been washed out by the rain. sad, sad.
it is so strange that this one, little, rather insignificant thing that I am doing seems so much more fulfilling than anything I have done in an incredibly long time. something that, in the grand scheme of things, won't even be recognized.
I suppose that's what makes it a beautiful, fulfilling thing, though.
"art is why I get up in the morning. but my definition ends there...you know, it doesn't seem fair that I'm living for something I can't even define..."
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