I'm fueled by my righteous indignation.
I love way too many people... and not enough love me in return.
I'm beyond coffee...This is big.
You expect me to account for opinions which you choose to call mine, but which I have never acknowledged.
I want to see, real, living, and in the hours of my own days, that glory I create as an illusion. I want it real. I want to know that there is someone, somewhere, who wants it too. Or else what is the use of seeing it, and working and burning oneself for an impossible vision? A spirit, too, needs fuel. It can run dry.
Ayn Rand
i experience love
in the balanchine style:
on stage, on pointe,
and through exquisitely crafted
choreography without
conversations or compromises.
I'm not too good to be true.
I'm simply too truthful to be good.
curiosity did kill the cat. But satisfaction brought it back.
So this is the person that I've become through all of the strife, the pain, the happiness, the joy, the innumerable blessings, the let-downs, the surprises, and everything else in between. I like to view this at times satisfying life with a glass half full in one hand and a guide to aesthetics in the other. I believe that while even your best friend will occasionally let you down, those are the best moments of your life because those experiences strengthen you so you can easily dismiss other hurts as if they were nothing. Because in comparison, they are nothing.
Enough with the silly life lessons already. We live in this world consisting of nothing but vast stretches of art, yet we simply pass by so consumed with our own trivial worries as if they will mean anything in a weeks' time, and we fail to pay the artists responsible for the absolute & pure the respect they most definitely have earned through the simple fact that they are ingenious by nature.
Why do we not see the hours of thought and imagination that goes into each ediface, each canvas, each thin piece of shield we clothe ourselves with each morning? Why cannot we appreciate that which we have been so blessed to experience, and not only fail to pay dues, but actively and aggressively ignore, like we are some race of moronic imbeciles. Well, if you cannot handle being ridiculed, you may be the very ones I Speak of, so choose your offences wisely.
Why listen to the ramblings of one who falls so easily for the pleasing. Throw something my way which is coated in a wispy thin shell of hope and I swoon at your feet. Don't call it naivety, please, for I cannot stand that word in comparison with my thoughts, but simply attribute it to my own little Cinderella complex, or maybe just this funny little thing called optimism.
Maybe I am the insanity in your midst, the incomprehensible in your mind, the eyelash in your eye - if you please - but maybe it is you who does not really see. Lift the veil of political correction and years of mindless training and view the world for what it really is. An ironic metaphor. A masquerade you can choose to disregard, or that you can truly embrace. Choose your own mask from the pre-selected pickings if you will, I think I'll make my own, incorporating my very own rose tinted glasses.
msn = [email protected]
A I M = aestheticsfirst
