pointless. what should I do. blablahblah. eating in bed.

reading about artcollectors made me depressed. left me empty.
i got to think about my own work - realizing its pointless. I've said it before. many times. it's old news. but I also felt that most of the images of art in this little berlin art magazine also was fucking pointless.

I looked up at my Berlin ceiling and sighed. There must be something else I could do. Something more valuable. I got up and smoked a cigarette while I toasted some bread. Comfort eating. WHat the hell if I end up fat. Nobody cares about me anyway. I sat down and smoked and hoped I would remember my thoughts about this art magazine situation. I lay down in bed with my old laptop and started typing.

What else could I do? I typed. Arial. 12p.

What else? Or if I would start by looking critically at my own work. What was it all about? Really. Was there anything of importance in them. Because I like that sentence or question. What is important. or. What is important?

I recalled something I said out loud back in the kitchen by the table while smoking.
I did not start making art because I thought I would sell stuff. I was never interested in selling or buying things. If that would have been the case I would have studied finance. I would have started my own business. A company.

Yes, someone in this magazine said: When bankers meet they talk about art. And when artists meet they talk about money.

If you dont have it you talk about it. As with dreams. If you dont have it you dream about it. And talk about it. What you would do if you had it.

if Im hungry I think about what I'd like to eat. If I dont have money I think about what I would buy if I had some. If I dont have a man in my life I make up fantazies about them. I dont have a dog - so I envy people who have one.

thoughts sorted. Feeling better. more important.