The anxiety of our age.

“C’mon man! Wake up! You can do better than that! Do something!”
“Aw man, leave me alone. I’m nauseous. The breeze feels good on my face.”
“Can’t you understand what is happening!”
“Look. If you think this is some kind of art you’re wrong! Smushing colors on the canvas the way you do. You’re clueless. Plus no one cares about painting anymore. It winds up in an attic or in the trash or locked away in some vault. Just stop it and get a real job.”
“Ouch. If I hadn’t thought of all this before and come to terms with it I might believe you.”