I'm so sick of the popular artists that post manic depressive-sounding journals about how their lives suck and how the furry fandom is suddenly acting so immature toward them.
Sure, maybe it's true and I feel for ya, but ya know what? THAT'S the problem, isn't it? I feel for ya, but who am I? Nobody that's who - just another face in the crowd.
Popularity is overrated and quite honestly a little intimidating too. Bad as it is though, "it's the one thing that makes a person more than a person. Yes, it makes an equal - and all below are nothing but a plague of loathsome sad little surfs.
It's MUCH better to whine back and fourth with a self-made whore of fake perversion than to (if only for a moment even) connect with a human being who's been there. . . truly been there and knows of both the pains and pleasures of life.
It's better for us all if you judge based on non-existing big dicks and bright colors than the words and mannerisms of a person."
Hey, maybe I'm wrong and my sarcasm up there really IS what's best for the likes of THEM.
After all, the ones who are just ever so blessed with a response are saying nothing but the same thing we've heard in every generic feel-good kid's movie.
If you met one who has felt true suffering, your petty nonsense would make you feel insignificant. Rather than take a reality check, most people these days would rather fault the other for (apparently) belittling their problem.
Sticking to one's own problem level is not a recommended act, I'd say, but not everyone can handle truth. Not everyone can handle pain and not everyone can take a look in the mirror and realize that the blemishes on the outside are nothing compared to the ulcers on the inside of another.
But most of all, most people can not handle life within fantasy.
Pick the simplest minds to stay at the top, pick the fairly average to seem prestigious, pick the genuine and bright. . . and see your true colors revealed.