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AM I SHARING TOO MUCH?

I have mixed feelings on blogging about myself. I don’t know whether I’m vain or in need for attention, but there’s this urge to share what comes in to my mind and the insane hope of getting some love in return. This is the behavior of a child.

Since I was said four years ago to have a mental illness for most of my life without being aware of it, sharing my emotions became even more urgent. I found myself not needy but desperate for attention and love. As time passes, I’m getting more unbearable.

Somehow I have the idea that my opinions matter, that my rubbish is valuable contribution to a better world. Knowing there’s absolutely nothing new on my epiphanies, I take refuge on aesthetics, claiming to create new items of beauty that will boost the humanity within us. I think of myself as a kickass artist.

Sharing my views and emotional processing is the chore of my art, wich I take as universal, as part of the most intimate common ground we share as human beings. It would probably be wiser to keep this apart from the promotion of my services as a professional illustrator, but I can’t find a way of achieving that. It all goes in the same package.

You’re hiring more than a drawing machine, folks. Sorry about that.

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I Can’t Sell A Damn Thing, And I’m Not Sure If I Want To

I’m really not good at this. Commerce is not my thing. The blog and the Etsy shop are only a desperate attempt to find an alternative to my soon to be abandoned job. I’ve been doing my best to leave in style, that is, without a gap between sources of income, but that is not going to happen. People like my stuff but only very few actually buy items. I find joy when people appreciate my designs and writings, but appreciation is not enough to make a living.

My job prospection feverishly continues with no results to date. Things were already bad before the pandemic. This is not unexpected. I held the fantasy of creating my own job, either through the Etsy shop, this blog or the freelance platforms. Nothing seems to work. I’ve been spending all my energies on becoming a commercial asset at the expend of creativity, but the sacrifice is useless. I now realize more clearly how ancient this effort is and to what extent it stole my life from me. It is at least as old as my professional career, which I intended to leave as soon as I would find myself able to survive as an author.

Things would have been much easier if my professional occupation was not such a violent and weary one. I had the naivete of believing that my love for learning and explaining as well as the importance I give to education would make me an inspiring teacher. I had my moments of success, among peers, students and parents, and some of the utmost dread. In time I reached to the point of burning out. I am totally uncapable of getting back to the classroom, no matter how I hold children in my heart. It is just too much for me. I gave my best until nothing is left.

All I want is a quiet job that doesn’t make me think too much and with enough wage too pay my bills. I’ve been applying for jobs such as warehouse operator, picking and delivery operator, supermarket operator, distribution driver, shop assistant and what not. Refusals succeed, but I still have hope.

I have this tendency to share my thoughts to the public as if they have some interest or value to others. I display my life craving for love. This vanity or personality cult is an awful thing, a weakness still out of my control. Advertising about my shop and blogging to attract potential buyers only make it worse. You have no idea of how much I long for the quiet simple job and the return to my cocoon of creativity, out of worries around commercial success and artistic recognition.

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Thugs

Donald Trump, Vladimir Putin, Kim Jong-un, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, Viktor Orbán, Nicolás Maduro, Benjamin Netanyahu, Bashar al-Assad, to name only a few. What is the matter with them? What do they want?

They want unlimited power. Don’t we all? We might, but they don’t look at the means to get it. Lack of empathy is absolute and selfishness is the main virtue. All their energy and brains are focused on the take. Mine, mine, mine! I own you! You owe me! I owe nobody!

Ten-years-old bullies in grown ups’ disguises, talented intrigue makers equipped with aggressive disdain to immunize them from shame. All temptations become accessible to them. A daily feast for their senses! Who wouldn’t want that?

Intellectual and aesthetic interests are candies and ostentation to them, fueled by childishness and vanity. The world exists for their pleasures.

Dreadfully, the names above are only the winners of a race to the top whose participants might be two thirds of humankind. How many bullies each of us as known through our lives? How many of us are bullies who had no luck, conditions or smarts to get higher on the ladder of power and despotism?

To my subjective knowledge, more than horror for the names above, two thirds of the individuals crossing my life feel envy. In case they would achieve the top they wouldn’t be any different. Just take a look around you (or perhaps inside you) and see the effect of gaining little powers. See the behaviors on both our domestic and professional lives.

Marital and family life give us the full picture. How many households are governed by abusive dictators?

To put an end to the rise of despotic leaders of nations it is fundamental to put an end to the rise of despotic leaders of homes. Scientific and philosophical knowledge of the human mind are key. Psychologists, psychotherapists, psychiatrists, philosophers, artists and experts on neuroscience and pedagogy must intervene on a cohesive collaborative way. This requires money but money is with the powerful. Money is with the thugs.