christmas gifts.

holidays is getting closer and yet i still can't feel the gist of it. my christmas gifts are not of the material kind but of my own reality of christmas.

my gifts this christmas are dedicated to the people who believe that santa doesn't grant wishes and looks at holidays as solitude. my gifts are for life itself, for an unfortunately astute understanding of all the cruelty and pain in the world. my gifts are unspecific.

i am an artist manqué, someone full of crazy ideas and grandiloquent needs and even a little bit of happiness, but with no particular way to express it. i am like the lead character in a korean horror film where the woman who is so full of... so full of... so full of something or other--it is unclear what, but a definite energy that can't find its medium--who pokes her own eyes out with a fork and is murdered by her lover in an insane asylum in the end.

she is, and i am becoming, a complete waste.