Those Crazy Romantics
Lately I've been diving back into Romantics. It all started with a deep urge to read Von Goethe's Sorrows of Young Werther. Now I'm looking at Gottlieb, Hegel, Kant, Chopin, Delecroix, Friedrich, Beethoven, Schiller, Byron, and all those other crazy dudes. I keep wanting to face the wind and bellow like a tragic hero.
It's something I've missed: the dense imagery, melodramatic lyricism, and fantastic forms. I love the art, the philosophy, the music, and the writing, but I have kept it all buried somewhere deep between my heart and my head where nothing tends to travel. I enjoy the freedom it offers, popping the lid from the top of my emotions and letting them soar and be as fanciful, foolish, or torturous as they are.
I feel I've flown from my median a bit, which may hurt in in the days to come, but for now, I am quite content.
It's something I've missed: the dense imagery, melodramatic lyricism, and fantastic forms. I love the art, the philosophy, the music, and the writing, but I have kept it all buried somewhere deep between my heart and my head where nothing tends to travel. I enjoy the freedom it offers, popping the lid from the top of my emotions and letting them soar and be as fanciful, foolish, or torturous as they are.
I feel I've flown from my median a bit, which may hurt in in the days to come, but for now, I am quite content.