The Consumation Prize of an Insane Mind: Prolonged Artistry

published by Hīrā Hayami on March 17th, 2026

🕗 4–5 minutes

INTRODUCTION

Working on a long-form project creatively feels like psychosis.

IT IS ALL NONSENSE, TO BEGIN WITH

It is literally driven by internal forces that no one can see. I promise myself rewards based on delusions of grandeur that carry me through to a hopeful sense of self-satisfaction that is not guaranteed, and optimism that is spelled by inflated words of inspiration, all while feeling incredibly lonely as I take ideas with no form whatsoever and make them into something tangible that can suddenly be perceived by thousands of people.

BUT I WILL MAKE SENSE OF IT

And when I do organize it like I do—like many do—I also start playing an invisible game that chokes and crams that imagination into a plethora of man-made systems. Comics, movies, they are all formulas.

THEN, THEY WILL CONSUME IT

Yeah, artists are insane, I am totally convinced. We still have to dial ourselves down just to be safely perceived. Then people will dote: "Wow, that is so crazy. Your work is so creative."

No, no. Now, it is simply digestible. Before, you would have been repulsed by the thoughts in my mind. You would have rejected me.

But hey, gold star.

Fitting my obscure ideas into the systems we have causes friction within me, but I must chuckle my way through. I am not raw from the vulnerability I must lead with; that is a strength of mine. The performance has exhausted me. My sensitive parts are tired. So much demand to meet, from others... and from my own aching parts.

For what? You may ask. What are the returns? Inevitability. To be met with dismissal, dismay, or ignorance—and all the hell it brings. People only start to care whenever their envy nags them. In a sick way, the overdue affection becomes a silent god damn ego war between your message and the critic within the audience. The creator is doomed. Their shadows delight in their insatiable bloodlust for a dead messenger.

I QUESTION THE ENDEAVOR

Considering all of this, I then look back and ask myself, Why am I doing this? I am met with two unwavering answers, each with its own sense of conviction.

• 1.) I cannot help it. I will lose myself or go insane if I do not do it.
  It must vent.
• 2.) Maybe my efforts will help one person feel less alone one day.

Fucking insanity.

GODS LESS THAN HUMAN

I swear to God. This is why my tagline is, Am I your favorite idea. People fall in love with the projection. The precision in the strokes of my pen. The poetry that I am able to contrive out of trivial words. They love what I can offer them. What I make them feel.

Artists are rarely loved. Truly. Deeply. The masses pry the treasure of us out of our hands and burn us at the stake. Us—the core of us that actually reveals people, mystifies, terrifies, and confuses them. Thank goodness, the imagination machine is dead.

CONCLUSION

Working on a project like this that takes an infinite amount of time and meticulous thought, I do acknowledge that I am actively curating adoration. What an expensive ambition. All it is and all that can be said for it, is that it is still a cauldron of disconnect and what-the-fuckery. Tirelessly, I brew.

Credits & Special Thanks

• I am forever grateful for the undying warmth, love, and support that I am shown by The Threaded One.
• Thank you, Cloud, for allowing me the space to think aloud and express myself.

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