Date post: | 23-Mar-2016 |
Category: |
Documents |
Upload: | freestyle-academy |
View: | 212 times |
Download: | 0 times |
BLINK
Thought.Thought.
shit.
Regret
MeMories can be distorted, they’re just an interpretation, not a record.
Isolation vs. Solitude.
Isolation Appreciation Devistations
My playhouse is under-neath our house, & I hear people telling each other secrets.
Nicolas Cage has secrets.
Thoughts are the shadows of our feelings - always darker, emptier, simpler.
Big things have small beginnings.
I believe that almost all our sadnesses are moments of tension that we find paralyzing because we no longer hear our suprised feelings living.
Sadness accompanies us, binds us, blinds us, wounds us, yet in the end we are fine.
Anticipation
In drawing, the trace always pro-ceeds in the night: it always escapesthe field of vision.
Anticipation is full of lies and deceit yet filled with the fear and kindness that blends through us.
Fleas interest me so much that I let them bite me for hours. They are perfect, ancient, san-skirt, machines that admit of no appeal. They do no tbite to eat, they bite only to jump; they are the dancers of teh celecestial sphere, delicate acrobats in the softest and most profound cir-cus; let them gallop on my skin, divulge their emotions, amuse themselves with my blood, but someone should introduce them to me. I want to know them closely, I want to know what to rely on.
I need to know there’s a world outside my own, I need to know that when I close my eyes, the world is still here.
SublimeThe beautiful, according to Edmund Burke, is what is well formed and aes-thetically pleasing, whereas the sublime is thw what has the power to compel and destroy us.
I’m just a man.
Amplified
You better laywer up asshole, cause i’m not coming back for 30%, i’m coming back for everything
I”m here
Thoughts of an Android
Human Beings
How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot, The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind,Each prayer accepted, and each wish resigned.
1987
There’s no memory left
Jonathan Olivo