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Out of context: Reply #4191
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as I get older the wisdom and perspective anticipated in youth are nowhere to be found. Each evening I am bewildered by the residues of the day's emotions: resentment, rage, contempt, fear. My father committed his entire life to creating art of sustaining beauty and spirit; I create unappreciated trash for fickle, moronic children in adult bodies. Where is my defining work? Who will remember me? What will sustain me?