I should've written something here, and published my supposed last 2010 entry, but I opted not to. I tried to read, to write, to rationalize, to make sense of things, but I failed. I tried to breathe. I tried to think and to remember vivid images of the dilemma of others and the harsh social realities and other problems plaguing and threatening humanity that lead me to conclude that most of my problems as a petty bourgeois are trivial. Now, I doubt the objective truth of my realization. Things seem abstract during these illogical times of subjectivity when Reason is a Stranger. All these reduced everything I thought I learned into vagueness and speculations and footnotes and memories and information and inanimately psychedelic everything, though I've seen and felt the concrete backslap of this System during my soulsearch. I thought I knew how to handle things until I am confronted with something I did not expect AT ALL. I had a lot of things withdrawn. I wanted to refrain from unsolicited disclosure of internal torment. While everything I am trying to do ends up as failure, I maybe succeeding on one thing. Or so I thought. As I've often said, everything doesn't seem to make sense. Everything doesn't seem to make sense. Everything doesn't seem to make sense. But this painting and its description somewhat does. Thank you for sharing this link, Jonallin Yang. "All this pain is an illusion," sings Tool.
"About Distance: The title for Distance is very literal. It is a painting about growing apart, feeling cut off, alone. It is about the feeling of being able to sit right next to a person and yet feeling as if you are worlds apart."
No comments:
Post a Comment