Although it is 12:58, there is good reason for me greeting "good morning" to you all...
I have just woken up after sleeping on my own couch last night from a long existential conversation with one of my greatest and best friends, Sir Campbell. It was a conversation that carried from the afternoon into the early hours of the morning. I think many things were accomplished last night, although there was no physical proactive action taken, there were certainly a variety of topics, laughter, and emotion grounded and mixed like a mother fuckin' margarita.
Notions upon notions, synaptic transmission of thoughts between the senses, a trade of experience and reflection.Whether it is talking about the reminiscent fucked up hierarchy high school years or listening to a transient auditory experience, or even discussing the prospect of getting a pet turtle... that is all life after death would be for me.
Everything seems to be
changing. Everywhere. But, we have each other, the people of the world. Times may be perceived as irreversible in the depths, we just must appreciate the horrors in life as well as the most infinitesimal beauties that are present to us every fucking day.
I think I have been watching a good amount of Eastbound & Down. And on that note, here is a painting and a little
villanelle for your thoughts...
…our happiest days slowly began to turn into d u s t
“our happiest days slowly began to turn into dust.”
and the birds lay silent at the edge of the pond.
each moment, waltzed away with the gust.
what we have here, is a definite must.
fly, to the stretching sky and expand to bond,
“our happiest days slowly began to turn into dust.”
genuine. honesty. there are so few.
keep me from the lucid, dwelling past.
every moment, waltzed away with the gust.
night to dusk, day to dawn cowering from colors,
who are conscious of what has to last.
“our happiest days slowly began to turn into dust.”
those who know how it’s done, live through,
construed beyond the deafening contrast.
every moment, away, waltzed with the gust.
feel how you feel and think as you must.
this tale can be short, tall, and somewhat fond.
“our happiest days slowly began to turn into dust”
each moment, waltzed away with the gust
 |
| Willem de Kooning called Seated Figure c. 1939 |
