Scattered
I am seating. I am staring at the blank sheet of digit paper in front of me.
And I know what to write about. But don’t know how. Because the set of words is erratic. You can’t just pick an element numbered as 7 from it knowing that this one will definitely suit you.
And it happens this way to me almost every time.
This Way.
And many people have it This Way, too.
I just thought, is it fair to pay for arts? Arts consist of thoughts, feelings, expressions…I think it would be fun to be such a minstrel who travels all over the world, knocks about and sings Wonderful Songs. Exactly, Wonderful Songs. And who doesn’t take money for it. What you think? Or to paint Wonderful Pieces? And not to set them out at the expensive galleries, but expose them right on the street? And everyone would be looking at them and everyone would be happy about it…
Every person is creative, no matter does he want it or not…And if one hides this desire even very-very deep inside of him, he still needs to share his arts with others. And I am thinking now that it would be great (bang!) to get together listening this minstrel and sincerely applaud for him and then leave the place being satisfied and maybe lightly drunk. Or to look at the paintings and sympathetically clap him on his shoulders, or maybe even on his buttocks …Only if you REALLY liked his paintings, of course. It would be the highest approval of his talent, eh?
And not to count whose paintings are more expensive or whose writings are more sublime, as he (now dramatically whisper) studied at (slowly)Haaarvard…
It’s all distorted now…
I am furiously spitting, without enthusiasm, though.
And I know what to write about. But don’t know how. Because the set of words is erratic. You can’t just pick an element numbered as 7 from it knowing that this one will definitely suit you.
And it happens this way to me almost every time.
This Way.
And many people have it This Way, too.
I just thought, is it fair to pay for arts? Arts consist of thoughts, feelings, expressions…I think it would be fun to be such a minstrel who travels all over the world, knocks about and sings Wonderful Songs. Exactly, Wonderful Songs. And who doesn’t take money for it. What you think? Or to paint Wonderful Pieces? And not to set them out at the expensive galleries, but expose them right on the street? And everyone would be looking at them and everyone would be happy about it…
Every person is creative, no matter does he want it or not…And if one hides this desire even very-very deep inside of him, he still needs to share his arts with others. And I am thinking now that it would be great (bang!) to get together listening this minstrel and sincerely applaud for him and then leave the place being satisfied and maybe lightly drunk. Or to look at the paintings and sympathetically clap him on his shoulders, or maybe even on his buttocks …Only if you REALLY liked his paintings, of course. It would be the highest approval of his talent, eh?
And not to count whose paintings are more expensive or whose writings are more sublime, as he (now dramatically whisper) studied at (slowly)Haaarvard…
It’s all distorted now…
I am furiously spitting, without enthusiasm, though.