What you don’t learn in art theory is how too big a compliment can hurt more than a slap in the face.
Where every day doesn’t start with an alarm clock and end with the television.
“Enough of any stress,” the doctor says, “good or bad, love or pain, can cripple our reason and bring us ideas and talents we can achieve in no other way.”
It’s funny, the way your mind tries to make sense out of chaos.
The weather today is partly angry, leading to resignation and ultimatums.
When that breaks down, and it always does, the dreamer returns to the world.
According to graphology, if you take your index finger and trace someone’s handwriting, maybe you take a wooden spoon or chopstick and you just write on top of the written words, you can feel exactly how the writer felt at the time he wrote.
You’ll need to suffer to make any real art.
You can repeat the same miracles over and over as long as no one remembers the last time.
What you don’t understand you can make mean anything.
Just for the record, the weather today is calm and sunny, but the air is full of bullshit.
Just for the record, the weather today is increasing turmoil with a possible physical and emotional breakdown.
Just for the record, the weather today is foggy with widely conflicting stories about your
father’s cause of death.
Instead we see only aspects of ourselves that fall over them. Shadows. Projections. Our associations.
Today is the longest day of the year—but anymore, every day is.
Just for the record, the weather today is calm. Calm and resigned and defeated.
You have endless ways you can commit suicide without 'dying' dying.
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