Saint Vincent Hospital, 1:11 AM some goddamn day in November.
"Sometimes I like to focus on the pain, the only thing that´s real and not the people around me. I guess this happens when they stop talking to you for a long time. I know it sounds kinda stupid but I haven't had a fulfilling conversation in ages."
"You know that lacks any sense," said Edith
"It does not!" I replied," How would someone like you understand that if you're not an artist. Besides, The only difference between me and a madman is that I'm not mad."
"Aha! I recall Dali said that. How's that for a girl who doesn't study art."
"And your point is?"
"Don't assume that I'm illiterate. Beside, the way I see it, inside these walls I'm right and your wrong, you're in my turf."
"How intimidating."
"Do you want to get somewhere with this conversation or are you just dabbling?"
I took a deep sigh, feeling somewhat defeated, "Very well, shoot."
"What's the last thing you recall before you hit the ground that night?"
"There was background music, I always have it but particularly I'm fond of Nine Inch Nails.
it seemed like the perfect motivation for a suicide attempt but I'm sorry to disappoint you, I wasn't going to. I was self destructing."
"Is it not the same thing?"
"Do you think self destroying is wrong?" I said boldly.
"Of course!!!"
"My dear, I am an artist therefore I´m entitled to reinvent myself whenever the Hell I want.
"Yes, but that doesn't mean you're allowed to kill yourself!"
"And who says I was doing that?"
"Me, and the man who found you that night. You're trying to glorify something that was so obvious but that's OK, I'll let you rest for now."
I wish she could have been more open minded on this delicate matter but you see that's why Edith is my non artistic follower.
I have lots of them, I could stuff entire galleries with them if I wanted and not feel any sense of remorse. But they're nothing; the room is full and empty at the same time. And I realize that they come looking for me on the social networks and expect me to answer all of their comments as if they were prayers waiting to be answered by an omnipresent God. At least I like to think I'm God, the other part I'm not sure of.
You see, I´ve gained a strong reputation making serious street art that carried a serious message until I became a gallery mascot. Not that this bothers me, it just happens to be an impeccable observation.
It was the middle of november and I so happened to have a new solo exhibition, a delicacy that only a true artist would appreciate; this was why my anxiety was through the roof and so was my beautiful corpse. But before I intended to jump I was thinking of how my landing was going to be, for I didn´t feel human at that moment. Or even better, where would I land? Was that cold winter night just part of an endless dream or was it a sugar coated reality?
Whatever the outcome was one thing was for sure; I was so cold and sick that there came a point in which I just stopped caring. A stranger knocking at my door again and again and I just turned away.
That reminded me of when I grew curious to learn new and amazing things which others could have easily labeled as,
THE SUPERNATURAL.
The earliest memory I could possibly pull out of the hat was when I was in my backyard drawing with big crayons doodling big holes hoping they would come to life, a rather inofensive way to spend an afternoon. Yet, by the time it became an obsession my mother dragged me back into the house claiming I had serious issues and that it wouldn´t hurt the slightest to make some friends.
Oh, but don´t get me wrong but I felt displaced in Elyria. Either I was too big for them or my ego was to big for my own body.
I´m Adrian Black and this is my bloody diary.
