l'ancien and vacuous
I try to write what I feel, but the more I focus, the more pretentious it ends up becoming. Maybe that's because I really don't have anything in particular to talk about right now. Or ever, for that matter. I mean, I suppose I could take some random news and comment on it, but that all seems futile and far from what this is: a place for thought and ventilation.
Perfection is best left uncontemplated and unexplained. This weekend can be described as perfect. Why? Because it wasn't perfect; it had its ups and downs and it was rough a rough ride all together; sort of like a great movie or an "exciting" activity.
For it is indeed in the lows that we find the true essence of the highs.
The leaves are ageing, their once so proud and colorful shapes turning dry and brown, torn off from their mothers in the violent wind. Icy breezes creep across the dying lands and all that have lived, receed back into their comforting homes.
All except us. Fuck, I hate it when it's cold. I've always found complaining about the weather to be a rather childish thing to do, (hypocritical as always) because in all honesty, it's pure hubris. Even expressing one's subjective feeling towards a certain weather, be it rain, cold or warmth, is to propose one's wish to seize control over it..
I am quite positive that I'm rambling, and I'm sorry.
In art class today, we were supposed to paint a picture conveying a certain emotion. I got really into it, making a blur of watery colors (it was pretty bad, but fun to do nevertheless). A sentence, however, made me lose focus and wake up from my Doorsesque haze:
"Emotions? What emotions are there? I don't have emotions"
The hilarious part is that those were the exact words he used.
hilarious, or incredibly sad...
Perfection is best left uncontemplated and unexplained. This weekend can be described as perfect. Why? Because it wasn't perfect; it had its ups and downs and it was rough a rough ride all together; sort of like a great movie or an "exciting" activity.
For it is indeed in the lows that we find the true essence of the highs.
The leaves are ageing, their once so proud and colorful shapes turning dry and brown, torn off from their mothers in the violent wind. Icy breezes creep across the dying lands and all that have lived, receed back into their comforting homes.
All except us. Fuck, I hate it when it's cold. I've always found complaining about the weather to be a rather childish thing to do, (hypocritical as always) because in all honesty, it's pure hubris. Even expressing one's subjective feeling towards a certain weather, be it rain, cold or warmth, is to propose one's wish to seize control over it..
I am quite positive that I'm rambling, and I'm sorry.
In art class today, we were supposed to paint a picture conveying a certain emotion. I got really into it, making a blur of watery colors (it was pretty bad, but fun to do nevertheless). A sentence, however, made me lose focus and wake up from my Doorsesque haze:
"Emotions? What emotions are there? I don't have emotions"
The hilarious part is that those were the exact words he used.
hilarious, or incredibly sad...
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