Clock’s and Calender’s Crimson Spell

The visuals of the mind are lush with the advertisements and the theater of forgetfulness for a fun cause. “Forget about troubles! Forget about us! We’re all about retiring from you! Evermore you! Forever!”

Tunneling past landlocked locations and costing past west coasts, deserted in a desert with spangles and an array of stars in the night sky. Nighttime is everybody’s and the daytime’s sunlight is good for us, our health. There is a sense of plurality in the green cover of trees teaching lessons that wishes are counted, counted in numbers, discounted by deeds. A sense of being and not becoming, a blow without brains, a roar of rudimentary rebellion is love of the verses distanced from splendor. Sighs, breaths, huffs and howls churn into means of show. But you can stop for a minute. Stop, happily.

Artful Aims around an Apocalyptic Aeon

On a camera or a canvas, a shattered ocean becomes scattered into an incredible panorama and the hills morph to misty highlands, hazing the surrounding views. The beauty of the world has stage to showcase its tone and especial actuality. Its either an ideal sea or an idle hill, but it is what it is by who worked to burn the destitution of worldly duty. This is, to me, the aesthetic of art- its expression is an evident vitality and its the easy getaway for those repressed by the shadows of entrapment.

Lately, I find myself having episodes of uncertainty to differ from convention or just differ from the world. Then its absolute that I fluctuate between moods so all is at the beat of my show. Yet still inside I know that the sky is a forever blue and that the air is an easier friend perfumed with floral wits. Art arrests the notion of tragedy, dire mind and corrupt glory.