Did Virginia Woolf Fall Down In The Forest?
There are times, especially late into the night, where the mind feels like sawdust inside the digestive system of the straw men:
We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats' feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar
Oops, sorry...broke into T.S. Eliot verse there...like I said late at night.
An Artist's World
I am not an artist. I am a pretender. Artists are few and far between, but when you find one, you know. They look at the world in a way that is mystifying to us. They scare us and I think we scare them. Yet, they sacrifice their souls in order to bring us some clarity. Still, even after this monumental effort on their part, we scorn them. Shame on us.
Poets, like any artist, venture into this dreamy mist where madness dwells. They have no other choice for this is the path where inspiration and creativity are found. Many perish in this land, but for those who return and share their treasure with the world, a price is paid. Part of them remains behind in that dream waiting for the next soldier of the soul, waiting to urge them on, waiting for Godot.
Natural Dialects
In the forest, the stories that are told have no beginning, middle or end. There is no narrative and it is for this reason that humanity has lost touch with it. Its life is cyclical and essentially infinite. Ours is marked by birthdays, holidays and commemorations and is, therefore, finite.
I want to crawl out into to the forest and melt into the soil so that I can live upon a branch of a tree. That is what I want to be when I grow up.
At times, I am the drowning man, surrounded by thought. Other times, I am the parched man, stuck in a sea of sand deafened by the roar of desolation. It was for this reason, that this oasis speaking the language of spring mountain water was such a pleasant find.
Elon's World
Inspirational quotes such as these are what keep these people working hard in hopes that someday, humanity shall walk on Mars.
We should create a country called "Willful ignorance" so that the 1 percent can have their little slice of heaven. It would be a shame if they would have to look upon these sights while driving in their environmentally controlled reality.
The multiverse is real. It exists on this planet. And, it would appear that the dimensions are multiplying. On the plus side, this is good news for the real estate industry.
Imagination's Strange Infinite Attractors
Yet, the gravity of society pulls upon our strings bringing us back to the finite world. For it is work and the restless band of opportunity, who keep hammering on our doors, which wakes us from our slumber in the infinite expanse of playful thought. A canyon is what we need. A gorge of great depth where we can build a little campfire to keep warm as night takes the place of day.
How does one imagine infinity when one is finite? There have been times when I have been infinite, or, at least, felt so, brimming in a flux of energy that was boundless. I know, at that time, I existed in the limitless nature of being, but for the life of me, I can't imagine it.
My kingdom for a cup of magic mushroom tea and the warm wash of childish laughter.
Along The Coast Of Infinity
It starts as a whisper, music that is almost inaudible. Like a snake it glides into the realm we have built. A dark energy that permeates our world of light filling in the blank stares crowding the street. We wish and then we die and all the while, the sound of silence buries time in a solemn field filled with poets and drunkards who were born too soon.
On the many roads of our storied past lay the ruins of well-intentioned dreams. Time, with its perpetual force, pounds the matter back to whence it began, disemboweling history and spilling the remains into the eternal river. I suppose, it is our responsibility to continue this seemingly futile task of making sand castles along the coast of infinity.
Waiting For Goat
This is a Trover photo post from yet another project I am working on. This is just 5 minutes from my apartment which is more or less like the buildings in the background. This used to be a quaint village where the goats would be slaughtered for the restaurant and meat which is sold out front. Now...
The project won't be as good as Waiting For Godot, but it will be a tragicomedy. It is a nonfiction story, after all, and the subject matter is about humanity.
A tragicomedy not unlike humanity, Waiting for Godot takes only two acts to complete. Humanity's version, which is much longer, is still playing...probably, not for much longer.
Free Choice In Hell
I don't have very good organizational skills and to compound this problem, I have the attention span of a 5-year-old - yes, I realize there is a connection. It is probably the reason I have to work on many projects simultaneously. I read somewhere that this sort of multitasking is counterproductive, at least in terms of the speed in which the project is finished. However, I don't really have a choice, besides, I think it helps my creativity.
Anyways, here is a photo post from an upcoming project. I live in China and some friends of mine were on business in Shanghai. So, I met them there and we went on a week-long road trip - more on that later. The aim of the trip was to go to Da Fen 大芬 Art Village and find someone who could paint a painting with us in it. I don't know, your guess is as good as mine. More on that later.
The day was turning from surreal to just plain WTF! There were hundreds, if not thousands, of studio/shops where you could find copies of paintings ranging from classical to impressionist. In this shop, there was a crying Barack Obama on the wall.
I don't know, your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps, he sees a vision of the future where he must choose his successor for president, sort of like having the choice between developing brain cancer or life as a poodle.
Trover Photo Link
Celtic Tanks
Fear crawls under your skin. We have all felt it; a snake at the base of the spine, a tremor in your stomach, a seed in your mind, it wants to grow. It wants to take root. It wants you to be afraid. But, you can't let it. If you want to live in the world of the ancients and drink the water that passed through their souls, you have to bare your teeth and sneer at the elements. And, when someone tells you to play it safe, tell them what Lou Reed said: "You can all go take a fucking walk"...Live on the Wild Side...Live until you die.