Wednesday, October 15, 2014
As if swimming in the river of black silk, he sinks into the blissful oblivion of the ordinariness; there he enters a world where the unseen becomes seen and the spirit, the flesh. When it’s time to leave, he holds on to everything, knowing that they would again become unseen.
In the most hidden labyrinths of the wall, the tiny streams of gold cinders pour forth. Against the dark space, they appear almost like explosion of fireworks. In his mind, it is almost as if he’s able to touch it, to feel the falling the gold dusts on his palm.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Any artistic spirit would have undoubtedly chosen the mandolin over the leg ham, he decides to choose neither, refusing to impose a judgment of artistic quality in both objects. Leaving them side by side, as one might when looking at the literatures of Stephanie Myers or that of Charlotte Bronte.
It’s as if a piece of shattered mirror landed in her eyes as it once did to a child prince and forever changed his perspective, her understanding of cannabis too, takes on a new light and become the reason for her meandering in the garden in a stance as such.