This little sparrowlike man,
tiny twisted bit of flesh in a black cape,
always in pain and ailing,
put a pebble in his sling
and hit Goliath square in the forehead with it.
War, he wrote, is the health of the state.
Half musician, half educational theorist (weak health and being poor and twisted in body and on bad terms with his people hadn't spoiled the world for Randolph Bourne; he was a happy man, loved die Meistersinger and playing Bach with his long hands that stretched so easily over the keys, pretty girls, good food and evenings of talk. When he was dying of pneumonia a friend brought him an eggnog; "Look at the yellow, it’s beautiful," he kept saying as his life ebbed into delirium and fever. He was a happy man.) . . .
I believe this man was an artist at more than just his music his prose or mindful thieory.
Being an artist is about being able to embrace a moment for nothing more than what it is... then... at that seccond. Being able to take it in without expectation of the next moment... that is the future. And choosing what outlook you want to express in the moment. . .
"Look at the Yellow, it's beautiful"... adoring something of simple beauty.
I think the closer i can get away from the drones of the future, the happier i am. In this moment... at a coffee shop, smiling faces, blueberry cheese cake, hasil-nut coffee, music in the background... typing... you. Whoever may read this. This moment is perfect. I am content.
I have to work in a few hours, dealing with whatever that intales...
I just finished playing music in the park with a fiddling friend of mine...
but now is nice. Holding a ciggarette in my hand, watching it burn, breathing in... out... watching the smoke. "Look at it's floating rings, it's beautiful".
Being able to embrace a moment... and that only.
Taking even the negitave moments and allowing them to bee all that they are.
It's cold, raining, hungry, hopeful, but lonely... feeling pain left by dreams gone ariah. I don't want to cover this moment...
alone in my warm bed at night, missing love lost... i could call a friend, but that is not this moment. Taking time to be where i am... allowing wisdome to grow out of every seccond life gives. Taking in the richness of joy and pain.
This is art. This is beauty.
This is love. Exceptance of an entity. Weather life, or a moment. Self, or another. Excceptance, and embracement of that which is infront of me.
Enjoy life.
tiny twisted bit of flesh in a black cape,
always in pain and ailing,
put a pebble in his sling
and hit Goliath square in the forehead with it.
War, he wrote, is the health of the state.
Half musician, half educational theorist (weak health and being poor and twisted in body and on bad terms with his people hadn't spoiled the world for Randolph Bourne; he was a happy man, loved die Meistersinger and playing Bach with his long hands that stretched so easily over the keys, pretty girls, good food and evenings of talk. When he was dying of pneumonia a friend brought him an eggnog; "Look at the yellow, it’s beautiful," he kept saying as his life ebbed into delirium and fever. He was a happy man.) . . .
I believe this man was an artist at more than just his music his prose or mindful thieory.
Being an artist is about being able to embrace a moment for nothing more than what it is... then... at that seccond. Being able to take it in without expectation of the next moment... that is the future. And choosing what outlook you want to express in the moment. . .
"Look at the Yellow, it's beautiful"... adoring something of simple beauty.
I think the closer i can get away from the drones of the future, the happier i am. In this moment... at a coffee shop, smiling faces, blueberry cheese cake, hasil-nut coffee, music in the background... typing... you. Whoever may read this. This moment is perfect. I am content.
I have to work in a few hours, dealing with whatever that intales...
I just finished playing music in the park with a fiddling friend of mine...
but now is nice. Holding a ciggarette in my hand, watching it burn, breathing in... out... watching the smoke. "Look at it's floating rings, it's beautiful".
Being able to embrace a moment... and that only.
Taking even the negitave moments and allowing them to bee all that they are.
It's cold, raining, hungry, hopeful, but lonely... feeling pain left by dreams gone ariah. I don't want to cover this moment...
alone in my warm bed at night, missing love lost... i could call a friend, but that is not this moment. Taking time to be where i am... allowing wisdome to grow out of every seccond life gives. Taking in the richness of joy and pain.
This is art. This is beauty.
This is love. Exceptance of an entity. Weather life, or a moment. Self, or another. Excceptance, and embracement of that which is infront of me.
Enjoy life.
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