sometimes i feel there’s no point in producing anything anymore. everything’s been written, filmed, painted, sculpted, whatevered already. the sheer information available on the internet is crushing. and most of it is useless, most probably. at this moment, there are 22,095 individual pictures saved just in my ‘images’ folder, harvested and archived (completely legally) from a variety of art sites. chances are i’ll never look at them again, just add new ones to their numbers. there are tons of books available for free at projects like gutenberg or the google libraries. does anyone ever read them? i mean, it’s great to have them there, and sure, i did read quite a few pages just yesterday from a scan of an ancient book on astrology and occult whatnot, but… you get what i mean? what is it that compels us to try and rework, reinterpret and remix all this? why add more and more?
then, again, i should be writing my new short story, and not muse about such things, and especially not in blog posts that are barely read by anyone (but of course you do matter, dear reader, whoever you are! :)) – and even if they read them, it’s probably a waste of time. i mean, i’m wasting your time here as well, not just mine. do you feel you get anything of serious value from this post? okay, maybe you appreciate a glimpse in my head, and maybe you’ll consider the meaning of this chaotic stream of thoughts as well for a few fleeting moments, in view of yourself, in view of your image of me, in view of the world… but then? all will remain the same. not as if i expected this post to change the world… of anyone. and that’s exactly the point here. the pointlessness.
update: okay, there’s an answer, a friend’s (over msn), he says the reason for creating things should be the pure joy of creating (when applicable), and i do agree with him, of course, only sometimes i just fail to feel that. at times like this, for example. now.