Two weeks ago I finally started a regimen that included taking medicine to aid me in navigating the severity, and seemingly random peaks and valleys of my emotional response to everything. I know I wouldn't have been able to not only survive those two weeks, but stay successful at school, create art, and get back to blogging on the site as I started earlier this year, just before Covid-19 became a concern here in the US. It feels wonderful to be able to feel the emotions come and go in what is a more natural way. Gone are those super intense peaks that seem to never come down, but when they do, the shadow of the valley stays equally too long. When there is a spike of excitement, it no longer reaches out to what had felt like the edges of the atmosphere.

The frustum is all there is.

It may be tricky to feel the subtly of change, but I can now handle that change.

This is a test, like the art and the continued stories of my life, can I do these things as well or better than before? I've felt an answer.

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FAKE, an Amsterdam based stencil/street artist created this gorgeous piece. Not just a woman, but a nurse, proudly wearing a mask with the family crest of Kal El, Superman. Immediately my thoughts darted to the film Man of Steel (2013) to where Kal responds to Lois's question that the symbol on his chest may look like an 'S,' but is actually their family crest, and it symbolizes hope. Easily enough, this portrait mural has out super-nurse, mask on and ready, but along with strength and support, she brings hope.

It's that hope that seems to be even more elusive as the end of 2020 draws near. For the best part of a year, and most likely to the end of the year, huge sections of businesses have either operated with as few as possible to deliver goods through the pandemic, or shut down entirely where hundreds of thousands remain out of work. Children attending school is mostly virtual, and though some have tried to be more open, the pandemic worsens with each spike of infections greater than its predecessor.

Depending on which state you live in, you have fully open business, where the infection takes the advantage, or nearly closed off states where travel is either restricted, or fourteen day quarantines are required every time you enter a state. The latter days of Summer marred the entirety of the west coast as forest fires raged from Seattle in the north to San Diego in the south, with temperatures raging into the triple digits.

Socially, this only seems to feed the flames of police shootings that are questionable at best, to out right murder by racially motivated actions, all contained within a system that spent nearly all the years since the Emancipation Proclamation to keep "those colored folks," in line. The very system itself has roots that have been rotten by hate, mistrust, and ignorance. From Rayshard, to Daniel, to George, to Breonna, and to so many more, hope appears illusive at best, and absent at worst.

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And at first, a glance at The Old Guitarist, by Pablo Picasso, painted nearly twelve decades ago, it's all too easy to see despair in the blind man playing a tune, but is that what's going on? It's more a blind man playing a tune in hopes of earning some coin for a bit of food, or a place to stay the night. Drive, determination, and desperation certainly all motivate him, the other half is hope that someone will not take pity on him, but to reward him for the tune. How many caring people will help him, even if the melody is a bit out of tune.

Before I started the medication, I would have written this through walls of tears and balled up tissue. Helplessness would have strangled my throat. My body would have trembled involuntarily. I would have needed an hour or two to come down. Hope would have felt too far away.

But it wasn't.

I couldn't feel it because of the emotional spikes.

The frustum revealed that hope was there the entire time.

Now that I can see that, and feel that, 'cause every little thing gonna be all right.

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