How many absences can I call until I run out of haze?
See, I have always been prone to moonless nights and empty concepts. Don't really see the sense in being present hence there is a tendency not to see objects last forever. How many poems can I read before I see a prison or an empty bar? Rarely It happens that I sleep alone but when I do I do wonder how many houses are there that are as silent.
Is it the tiredness or the crash — the enthusiasm or the fall — is it the construction or the abstraction — is it that there is tiredness or crashes? I can recall that never was that day that didn't follow the previous.
The previous one wasn't his, neither is the one before nor the one after. Days just don't flow that way. Do they? Days after days and days after accumulating to a tangible dimension that adds a beautiful perfume to the air — is that we tend to sense them?
How many absences can I call? See, I have always been prone to moonless nights and empty [≠]
hit beat. sync. Hey, good morning. How are you doing today. Imagine as if we were couting sheeps and make me my makeup as if I was young. 27.
That could be that we are spinning. It isn’t a tremendous thought. Yet we are still. That might not be true. Innocuous they might say.
Tend to disagree, alike the reunification of Art & Life.
Only the real negation of culture can inherit culture’s meaning.
Such negation can no longer remain cultural.
That could be therapy. It is the transparency. The honesty. The psychotic breaks and basking in the nerves of anxiety-led bumps. To get up in the morning to break the norm. A significant other decomposed in triangles and other geometric shapes, colored, bright & in movemenet.
No one told me that in the real world the act of translating a context would be a lesser act of greatness than to create the context. Figured it equivalent. If visualizing is therefore inferior to the source, I suspect that visual arts are smaller than literature.
That could be dinner: to contextualize the design act as function driven is to instrumentalize a falacy.
A stalker of the addicted. A seeker for greatness through catalystic features. Stalking in the night so that one can see through, in the morning, in the park, before work. It’s a different world now.
That could be happiness.
A non-article like this should pintpoint how absurd it is to exist in a relational reality. Fuck Andrew Bleauvelt
It’s about communicating through a lens.
We are emulating the beliefs of tomorrow.
Oh no, not tomorrow. That’s the main storyteller: that is what we do. Create monuments; envision landscapes; overreact to briefs and question goals; we fucking; we fucking push it forward; we laugh; we do that and still care about that form; that’s seductive. We emulate the line, we formulate the question, but still, we are here building an argument. Are we not masters of what it is to be suspended?
That could be something that could’ve been.