I'll probably end up in a mental ward someday. . .

I'm fucked up but in a beautiful way. The only thing that makes sense to me is music, I don't have the drive to do anything but pluck at the strings and push my vocal chords until I die. It seems like life is just fuel for the vehicle of art. I see everything that we make ourselves do day-in-day-out, and it's all one giant chaotic din that resembles the sound of a large combustion engine, and our consciousness has only two options: overdrive the engine with the mundane shitfuel of life, or spit it out and make something beautiful. "Existence is output." I understand what that means again. Output, or die. No matter where you stand in the ranks of the populace, if you're an artist, you're fundamentally the same as every other artist, because you tap into the ONE CONSCIOUSNESS, and that's your reward. It doesn't matter if you're on a street corner or on a stage, there is only one true reward from your creation; you tap into the matrix. If you're focusing on others' perceptions you are missing art, that's why most popular artists, although externally productive, are internally blind. Through art, through active, spontaneous mathematics, we can connect the dots of our entire beings, and the "day-in-day-out" becomes eternity. Align your thoughts, emotions, perceptions, and actions, and realize reality.