… do what you love
I love art. It dazzles.
If I get too into art, it has a tendency to sink me further in until I circle inwards into a vortex of confusion with no return.
I enjoy science. It clarifies. Science drags me out of insanity and showers me with cold water of rationality, makes me think logically, keeps me cool and comfortable in a stable kind of way; keeps me balanced, and routine, and mundane…
Then art thrills, it comes out of nowhere and sweeps me off my feet. It whisks me out of the mundane and makes my heart beat with obsession and thrill and it gives no rest, it then pushes and pulls, it drives me mad, and I start suffocating
Then science rescues like a fresh breath of air, calms me down, lowers my heart rate, stabilizes my mind, clarifies, and things start becoming orderly again, and then routine, and then mundane and then
Art brings me to life, it thrills,
Then slowly kills
Then science heals
Then art comes
The world is spinning uncontrollably in different directions, and I sit here, dazed and confused.
A hopeless dreamer
Drowning in flowers
It’s absolutely shocking
How quickly this flesh will rot. It’s unbelievable how quickly the dead body is cleaned out of this place. She was just laughing the night before, so alive. It’s unbelievable how everyone that I’ve encountered can dissipate in a second. It’s crazy how soon the flesh can turn to ash, and I’m dumping her down the river. You. Dust. That was you…!! It’s unfathomable how they’ve all disappeared, cursing me with memories of them. They used to yell at us for being wild kids and messing in their gardens. Bright and sunny Marigolds. As if they owned it, as if they’d stay there forever. I’d go there always… I’ll go back there anytime. I don’t know where that place is anymore. I’m here in the manic office now. It’s sad how the 100% correct businessmen can make huge contributing decisions today, and be vanished from the face of the earth tomorrow. Walking flesh. Talking flesh. Everyone around me. Spontaneous lives. Waiting to leave. And I, an illusion to them as they are to me. They’re so quick to die and disappear. There’s got to be something longer term. There must be something everlasting. I sit here and completely guess. What the heck do I know? And why does, when that day comes, matter now.
at 32, how can one imagine at 82