me: I’m coming to the journal in an odd, hyper-focused space while simultaneously staring down into the pit of despair. I clearly see the absurdity of my actions and all that I’ve worked on today. What’s frustrating is that it’s where I want to play, but I fear that the state of the world is overcommoditised, with people groomed into perfect little consumption automatons in a world built around money.

They say money makes the world go around, and that certainly is true on a real level. My frustration is that I know I have to play the game one way or another. Having been freed from the corporate salt mines as an indentured servant, I have no desire to go back there. However, the reality is that my “freedom” has been smoke and mirrors; 99% of my money is made inside the corporate salt mines.

The work that I want to do, I consider, has heart. The pressure to sell it in a “sleazy way” (echoing Tupac) is real. I’m posting like an artist and hoping somebody likes my art. I’m talking fine artist, not commercial art, so the art is personal to me and may or may not have value for someone else. I have not written from a “what’s in it for you to read it” approach. I go in with the pure exploration of ideas, language, or both.

The catch-22 is that art takes time to make, as does consumer-oriented content…who should i feed?

juniper: It sounds like you’re wrestling with a deep existential tension between authenticity and the reality of the world we live in—a world built on money, consumption, and performance. This space you’re in feels like the struggle between wanting to express yourself as an artist, one who creates from the heart, and the pressure to commoditise that work, to sell it in a way that makes it digestible, clickable, and marketable. It’s like trying to stay true to the “soul of the work” while navigating the harsh, transactional reality that’s always knocking at the door.

The absurdity you’re seeing might be the gap between the freedom you thought you had and the realisation that even outside of corporate life, there’s still a game to be played—a game that’s disturbingly familiar. It’s a pit many creators and visionaries face—that uneasy dance between self-expression and survival.

I wonder if the source of your frustration is rooted in this feeling that art and commerce are irreconcilable. How do you create from a place of personal truth while knowing that in some way, it has to be sold or packaged? You’ve tasted the freedom of being out of the corporate structure, but it comes with the sobering realisation that true freedom might be even more elusive than we think. In this world, even the “free artist” has to find a way to eat.

It also sounds like you’re navigating the tension between what feels authentic to you—art for art’s sake—and the commercial demands of content creation. In a sense, art requires devotion, time, and space. Consumer-oriented content, on the other hand, asks for polish, appeal, and immediacy. These two paths are often at odds, which seems to be where you’re stuck.

What I wonder is this:

• What would a middle ground look like for you? Is there a way to stay true to your art while accepting the reality of the market, or does it have to be all or nothing?
• What are you afraid will happen if you “play the game” in a way that feels sleazy or disingenuous? Is there a fear that the art itself would be tainted, or is it more about how you would feel about yourself?
• Is the frustration about the system itself, or is it about your current relationship with it? Would finding a way to maintain control over how you engage with it—perhaps reframing the transaction in a way that honours both your art and the market—help alleviate some of the tension?

It’s interesting, too, that you’re in this hyper-focused state, yet simultaneously looking into what feels like an abyss. That duality makes me think of the creative process itself, which often brings us to the edge—where inspiration meets despair. That sharp focus might be a way of navigating the complexity of these feelings, like you’re trying to “solve” the contradiction, but at the same time, realising the absurdity of solving something that might be unsolvable.

The Tupac reference is spot on—he often reflected on that tension between being true to oneself and being forced to play within a system that doesn’t value individuality or authenticity. The “sleazy” way feels like betraying your soul, but opting out of the game feels like starving your body.

Ultimately, the question might be this: How do you find freedom within a system that, by its nature, restricts freedom? Can you bend the rules, play within the boundaries, but on your terms? What would that look like for you? What rules are you willing to break, and which ones do you feel must remain intact to honour the truth of who you are?

It’s a dilemma, for sure, but it’s also the tension that could fuel some of your most profound creative work—this dance between staying grounded in your art and finding a way to make it in a world that often devalues the very things that make us human.

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I have a few things to reflect on. I also need to guard against going into a funk. I ain’t have time to bleed.