Listening to: Everything , but nothing ..
Reading: Cool quotations!
Playing: Silver Valse
Eating: Peanut Butter
I have all the characteristics of an Artist. But inside... there is an internal force, which you may call destructive. My punishment continues to elude me.
Its chaotic energy is not visible, but it will change your narrative from time to time. It's an ending to something that had no beginning, like a dream. You might be confused by words, but be patient.
Imagine a narrow line between fantasy and surrealism, dreams and reality, when they actually touch one another. Have you seen the movie "8 ½" by the legendary Federico Fellini? It seems like nostalgia changes everything. The sense of nostalgia may act as a rebellion, or an expression, that no longer concerns the audience. It creates an essence that may not be ideal, but it will be the only way. Speaking of audience, there are no audiences.
I'm getting off the topic now, and I'm lost in the theme. In fact, there are no themes, and what is left of me is certainly lost in the narrative.
I have passion, but I wonder about the Aphrodite. Macbeth was lost in time, and so was the Oedipus. One was just blooming, and one was as lost as kite in the storm. One had escaped from the future, and one was confused about the past. For me, time is flat as Roman goddesses' tits. I'm an interrupted gardener that is blinded to sunshine. I'm the one with all the seeds and swear to Macbeth I can smell emptiness and bitterness of my life. Life is seeds that I had planted in time, and then skies went dark all the sudden. Earth opened it mouth to give lengthy sky a pleasure. If different subjects were involved no one would have cared, because it conquered the audience. The audience likes to be fooled, so he confuses himself where he can't be comprehended.
I hope everyone have grasped some basic ideas from my note up to this point. The difference between me and an actual artist is as a whore to a porn star. Actions may involve same techniques, but the narrative is a whole lot different. I actually dream of being an actual artist but I'm no artist at this point. I am giving birth to the hidden chaos within my essence and existence. The medium is Art, but the work is not artistic yet. It is simply because of it being a matter of narrative. Heartache or a daily fight changes the mood rapidly, also known as Mood Swing. I agree on some levels it is a figure of speech meaning that it also can be referred to as an inspiration (on some levels). I'm not sure about that.
I clearly distinguish the difference between inspiration and other creepy changes in my life. For example, I know I am inspired by Federico Fellini because I tended to use his philosophy in my every movement. However, a daily conversation changes everything as if it plants seeds into my ground. I don't want these seeds, because they are cursed with emptiness. I want Art. All I want is Art.
I'm really lost and to me it is a matter of expression. I want it to be more, and its depth must be fulfilled with an artistic narrative. I want it through time, limitless, and specific. This confession has meant nothing and I'll look forward to it from my own narrative. I must find myself
and save "cosmos" from this insane, dark, and chaotic ocean. I want it to be a nude princess simple, predictable, and yet controllable. Then, it will express itself in terms of passion and philosophy. Its depth will be "joyful", and mainstream may look forward to it. This is my ultimate definition of Art and what is being missed from my life. In my world, "unheard melodies" are sweeter, because they have not been affected by time.
I hope no one was confused because of writing style or my choice on words. It may have had weaknesses, but don't take it too serious.