Its been a long time since i dreamt, a long time since i left my self loose and painted. Rather I'm finding the once harsh, real world very tolerable and sometimes enticing. Is it deadly? Is it suicidal? Is it destiny? I don't know. But i fear if its like "The child is grown, the dream is gone." kinda thing. I don't even feel inspired by anything or anyone anymore. Like i used to when i watched the poor, or a documentary on Da Vinci, or a portrait made by Michel Angelo or an essay written by Nietzsche- "I have become comfortably numb."