i have become a night creature. owls have pionty beaks so i hope i am a bat, but i guesse a possum would be cute to.
the days are so bright that awful uv puts me striaght into a coma. The last time the sun poured into my pupils or over my candy hide is neslted securly in my subconsious-a malady no one can see but its presents is evidenteverywhere. i dreamt of the sun last night- it was warm golden crimson and alot like a smile. It soaked over orange stones and licked torquise waves... but then, like in most dreams i start running away from cuthulus and gogo mucks and dead things(strangly- i find this fun. i am not paniced or afraid.)
... but what are dreams but the bastard children of an idle mind...
Ha ! Spencers Gifts is dead! i slew the gorgon Wednesday! lookit all her other victims, still frozen like david, slowly crumbling from all the awfull wind rains and spit. Many will die there, some are already 12 years dead. i want to cry for them; but i can only point and laugh. The new job is beautiful-be an artist! I slap my cello around, hammer on some keys,explore new mediums, carve things with pens and colored pencils and paints, i pull words off of objects and staple them to lined paper, i network and perform, i practice practice practice until it is perfect and Sickert's even tring to get me to sing(silly boy).
***recitals and production loom over my head like rice and flowers and that yummie gullitine- i enjoy being a bat!***
the days are so bright that awful uv puts me striaght into a coma. The last time the sun poured into my pupils or over my candy hide is neslted securly in my subconsious-a malady no one can see but its presents is evidenteverywhere. i dreamt of the sun last night- it was warm golden crimson and alot like a smile. It soaked over orange stones and licked torquise waves... but then, like in most dreams i start running away from cuthulus and gogo mucks and dead things(strangly- i find this fun. i am not paniced or afraid.)
... but what are dreams but the bastard children of an idle mind...
Ha ! Spencers Gifts is dead! i slew the gorgon Wednesday! lookit all her other victims, still frozen like david, slowly crumbling from all the awfull wind rains and spit. Many will die there, some are already 12 years dead. i want to cry for them; but i can only point and laugh. The new job is beautiful-be an artist! I slap my cello around, hammer on some keys,explore new mediums, carve things with pens and colored pencils and paints, i pull words off of objects and staple them to lined paper, i network and perform, i practice practice practice until it is perfect and Sickert's even tring to get me to sing(silly boy).
***recitals and production loom over my head like rice and flowers and that yummie gullitine- i enjoy being a bat!***
VIEW 8 of 8 COMMENTS
drpirate:
"The more one seeks "the good" outside oneself as something to be acquired, the more one is faced with the necessity of discussing, studying, understanding, analyzing the nature of the good. The more, therefore, one becomes involved in abstractions and in the confusion of divergent opinions. The more "the good" is objectively analyzed, the more it is treated as something to be attained by special virtuous techniques, the less real it becomes. As it becomes less real, it recedes further into the distance of abstraction, futurity, unattainability. The more, therefore, one concentrates on the means to be used to attain it. And as the end becomes more remote and more difficult, the means become more elaborate and complex, until finally the mere study of the means becomes so demanding that all one's effort must be concentrated on this, and the end is forgotten."
"The more one seeks "the good" outside oneself as something to be acquired, the more one is faced with the necessity of discussing, studying, understanding, analyzing the nature of the good. The more, therefore, one becomes involved in abstractions and in the confusion of divergent opinions. The more "the good" is objectively analyzed, the more it is treated as something to be attained by special virtuous techniques, the less real it becomes. As it becomes less real, it recedes further into the distance of abstraction, futurity, unattainability. The more, therefore, one concentrates on the means to be used to attain it. And as the end becomes more remote and more difficult, the means become more elaborate and complex, until finally the mere study of the means becomes so demanding that all one's effort must be concentrated on this, and the end is forgotten."
voltaire:
i love being a bat!