I want to walk outside, walk in a city...until dusk...until I see the sun rise steadily from the horizon, and feel the inherent connectedness of life, of reality, to be lost in subtle details, minute chemical reactions firing through my synapse and reminding me that beyond the day to day, what is grounded, what surrounds us, is something which can never be replicated.
There is nothing there, but if you can understand the truism rather than be blinded by the crutch of meaning, you can see the beauty. Like the petals of a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Life is not a bonsai; there is constant discord, and we will never get along, and we will always fight until we no long stand, until our ash is one within the acres of Earth.
What is today will be lost forever.
My artistic brother, Orson Welles, framed it best.
"Be of good heart," cry the dead artists out of the living past. "Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing." Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.
Break free the chains, and let loose the wave of human experience through existence.
There is nothing there, but if you can understand the truism rather than be blinded by the crutch of meaning, you can see the beauty. Like the petals of a bouquet of chrysanthemums. Life is not a bonsai; there is constant discord, and we will never get along, and we will always fight until we no long stand, until our ash is one within the acres of Earth.
What is today will be lost forever.
My artistic brother, Orson Welles, framed it best.
"Be of good heart," cry the dead artists out of the living past. "Our songs will all be silenced, but what of it? Go on singing." Maybe a man's name doesn't matter all that much.
Break free the chains, and let loose the wave of human experience through existence.
