July 30th

I don't want to wake up one morning like Andy Warhol in the 60s and say I don't do my art anymore because I decided to focus in other things. The thought of losing my passion is a constant agony. It burns under my skin. It hurts the air I breath. It makes me miserable. However, I usually lose myself between all the things I want to do. Like writing, I spent more than ten years writing, but at some point the photography caught me and I couldn't finish some stories. In addition, all of this years I've been drawing some stuff but I never found something really beautiful on it. I never felt proud of any of it. Now, with the taste of a black coffee and the smell of lemon lucky strike, I feel desperate. My mind is a mess, my hands are crazy about create something. But what? What can i do without feeling empty or frustrated. What? I keep asking myself. What...