There's this random woman that I adore. Obviously she's not random to me, but she's random as far as you are concerned. I can't say she returns the favor. Such is life, pain-in-the-ass that it is. It's all so many bodily fluids and disappointments. Well, occasionally I sleep. That's a comfort. Anyhow, she writes things and puts them on the web. So I search and I read them.
It suddenly dawned on me how vulnerable the process of creating and presenting art can be. I honestly don't believe that had ever occurred to me before. I had always thought of it as a show. You perform; the audience throws roses or they throw tomatoes. They fancy their applause is for you, but the play's the thing. Out, damn'd spot! Out, I say! No, wait, that's a different play. Regardless, everyone dies in the end.
I think this vulnerability precedes creation and presentation. These processes merely bring that which is guarded into the light. You're always naked. Generally you disguise the truth of this beneath clothing, but you know you're naked. There's no escaping it.
I'll try to be nicer to people.