I have reached a point of no return, and when hope is released from one’s soul, then peace enters and replaces it.
I could’ve been an artist I think; a damn good one too; but my direction is now irreversibly another, and I am now at one with this direction, and I can now make my future in another way quite different from that which would’ve brought me the pleasures of the senses.
So such pleasure is not to be my life’s experience after all (although it has not been so anyway, after all these decades); but, even so, challenges – intellectual and practical – will surely, rightly, and fascinatingly substitute the pleasures that once could have been within my reach.
Responsibility and duty, properly performed, are not quite the same bedmates as sex, exploring artistic innovation, feeling and touching the joys of cultural dissonance and rub, and so forth. But bedmates they still can be – even where not in the literal sense.
And whilst I shall have no literal bedmate for the rest of my life, my brain – at the very least – shall be occupied.