THANKS VISION
you say winter's killing you
that you can't stand the season
it has no smell or flavor
Good morning, it's purple o'clock!
I guess it really started when I figured out that removing someone else's constricting clothes for them would somehow let me breathe more freely. Then there was that half-hour or so we spent trying to figure out whether or not you were actually purple, leading up to our realization that you were an elitist and I was an artist (maybe) once I touched on my complex with food while trying to maintain that my complex with food is definitely in no way similar to your complex with food. I thought that maybe you were your lover is your son is your mother is your tattoo, but maybe I was wrong, or maybe we just haven't figured that out yet. But there was no other real explanation, considering your quotidian life in his world of brain-splatter walls.
You could say that we tried to escape the world of numbers and business and industry and things that men should learn by delving into the world of art and literature, but when you brought up the point that even art has a system to it, I couldn't help but be stuck on that for hours. Maybe it's my background in graphic design, but it just makes sense that the human brain has to form certain patterns and conclusions in order to make art, and even has a certain way of forming syntax in the form of a literary work. That said, it really is hard to escape any kind of mathematical system when involved in creative work: even music is mostly math, especially if we're talking about the digital sphere. Well, that just sucks, doesn't it? I think it's great that you'll go on to study atoms in the pursuit of fine art. As for me, though, that sounds worse than the taste of that awful bread, or the fact that my face will never be able to escape my face no matter how hard I try. (Not sure if that realization was as weird for you as it was for me.)
ever since I was born, I couldn't see
ever since I couldn't see, I couldn't find
but it doesn't matter, does it?
It's really interesting when water converges: it meets, collides, and breaks into rivulets. Thoughts are similar in that way--two opposing thoughts can collide and create psychedelic spider-webbing thoughts that go in all directions. We were doing that for quite some time, throwing all of our unused thoughts into the Dylan pile. Or was it more like a puddle, a river, an ocean? Either way, there was surely some font of wisdom down there in the madness somewhere.
that was us over the last five years
but it's over now and getting better
doesn't matter does it?
Maybe you're right: I don't HAVE to be in a pair, even if that's what my biology book and the world at large keeps telling me. I never really thought about it that way before. Well, fuck that. I don't think I'll ever fit inside the weird creative life force men/women art/science yin/yang thing. It has its own delicate balance that I suppose I'll just never be a part of. I'm merely meant to observe, I guess. That said, here are some of my footnotes so far!
industry --> systems --> knowledge --> white sterile God room --> Men
Women <-- dark soil mother earth thing <-- substance <-- emotion <-- blackberries? There's a z-axis somewhere in there but who knows where? Ovaries were a definite factor that night, maybe I had some crazy umbilical trauma at birth and just won't ever get to the bottom of it. Ever notice that "Aries" is in the word "ovaries" and Aries is the first sign and the first house and thus can be symbolic of birth and children and etc? Isn't that just fucking weird?
Whatever, I had my piece of bread and those fucking incomprehensible berries. I'm done. Thanks, visions. Thanks, friends. And once again, thanks, America. I'm done for now.
that you can't stand the season
it has no smell or flavor
Good morning, it's purple o'clock!
I guess it really started when I figured out that removing someone else's constricting clothes for them would somehow let me breathe more freely. Then there was that half-hour or so we spent trying to figure out whether or not you were actually purple, leading up to our realization that you were an elitist and I was an artist (maybe) once I touched on my complex with food while trying to maintain that my complex with food is definitely in no way similar to your complex with food. I thought that maybe you were your lover is your son is your mother is your tattoo, but maybe I was wrong, or maybe we just haven't figured that out yet. But there was no other real explanation, considering your quotidian life in his world of brain-splatter walls.
You could say that we tried to escape the world of numbers and business and industry and things that men should learn by delving into the world of art and literature, but when you brought up the point that even art has a system to it, I couldn't help but be stuck on that for hours. Maybe it's my background in graphic design, but it just makes sense that the human brain has to form certain patterns and conclusions in order to make art, and even has a certain way of forming syntax in the form of a literary work. That said, it really is hard to escape any kind of mathematical system when involved in creative work: even music is mostly math, especially if we're talking about the digital sphere. Well, that just sucks, doesn't it? I think it's great that you'll go on to study atoms in the pursuit of fine art. As for me, though, that sounds worse than the taste of that awful bread, or the fact that my face will never be able to escape my face no matter how hard I try. (Not sure if that realization was as weird for you as it was for me.)
ever since I was born, I couldn't see
ever since I couldn't see, I couldn't find
but it doesn't matter, does it?
It's really interesting when water converges: it meets, collides, and breaks into rivulets. Thoughts are similar in that way--two opposing thoughts can collide and create psychedelic spider-webbing thoughts that go in all directions. We were doing that for quite some time, throwing all of our unused thoughts into the Dylan pile. Or was it more like a puddle, a river, an ocean? Either way, there was surely some font of wisdom down there in the madness somewhere.
that was us over the last five years
but it's over now and getting better
doesn't matter does it?
Maybe you're right: I don't HAVE to be in a pair, even if that's what my biology book and the world at large keeps telling me. I never really thought about it that way before. Well, fuck that. I don't think I'll ever fit inside the weird creative life force men/women art/science yin/yang thing. It has its own delicate balance that I suppose I'll just never be a part of. I'm merely meant to observe, I guess. That said, here are some of my footnotes so far!
industry --> systems --> knowledge --> white sterile God room --> Men
Women <-- dark soil mother earth thing <-- substance <-- emotion <-- blackberries? There's a z-axis somewhere in there but who knows where? Ovaries were a definite factor that night, maybe I had some crazy umbilical trauma at birth and just won't ever get to the bottom of it. Ever notice that "Aries" is in the word "ovaries" and Aries is the first sign and the first house and thus can be symbolic of birth and children and etc? Isn't that just fucking weird?
Whatever, I had my piece of bread and those fucking incomprehensible berries. I'm done. Thanks, visions. Thanks, friends. And once again, thanks, America. I'm done for now.