I wish I could write. Words have an extraordinary power that transcends the boundaries of action and thought by inspiring both simultaneously. Yet they do not come, or if they do they lack the required elegance and panache to bear any measurable fruit. One day maybe...
Some people like spring because it is a time of renewal. The world awakens from its slumber into a season of life love and fucking. I like winter. I think the world is at its apex when quite literally frozen into stillness, like a picture or painting that breathes. The sole ecstatic experience I know of is standing in the snow fall, watching as the world with all its inequities is covered in layer of simple, unadulterated purity. Everything that is wrong is immediately forgotten, buried beneath the all-unique flakes that band together to blanket existence...at least for a moment. And fleeting it is, soon melted away and forgotten, like life itself. Yeah, cheesy and more than a bit cliche, especially that last bit, but oh well. In the words of Vonnegut, "So it goes."
Some people like spring because it is a time of renewal. The world awakens from its slumber into a season of life love and fucking. I like winter. I think the world is at its apex when quite literally frozen into stillness, like a picture or painting that breathes. The sole ecstatic experience I know of is standing in the snow fall, watching as the world with all its inequities is covered in layer of simple, unadulterated purity. Everything that is wrong is immediately forgotten, buried beneath the all-unique flakes that band together to blanket existence...at least for a moment. And fleeting it is, soon melted away and forgotten, like life itself. Yeah, cheesy and more than a bit cliche, especially that last bit, but oh well. In the words of Vonnegut, "So it goes."