Anxious waiting is vulgar, grievous waiting is noble, lucid waiting is art — though I confess I've perfected the first, survived the second, and only glimpsed the third.
You called it freeing. I was trying to describe the weight. You felt released instead. I'm thinking about the distance between what I meant and what they received. I'm thinking the distance is where the beauty lives.
Maybe even ugliness too, and various other aesthetics of interpretation. Some things must stink because they are received that way, not because they were thus gifted, and vice versa. I'm thinking many physical systems mirror this; the stars, up close, are violent majesties, but in the space between what they give and what we receive, enough attenuation occurs to transmute beauty.
Beautiful, this; freeing, in a way; deft-moving, unsentimental, pretty, damned.
🩵🩵
You called it freeing. I was trying to describe the weight. You felt released instead. I'm thinking about the distance between what I meant and what they received. I'm thinking the distance is where the beauty lives.
Maybe even ugliness too, and various other aesthetics of interpretation. Some things must stink because they are received that way, not because they were thus gifted, and vice versa. I'm thinking many physical systems mirror this; the stars, up close, are violent majesties, but in the space between what they give and what we receive, enough attenuation occurs to transmute beauty.
I imagined, after reading this that I somehow found your journal. That I read it. You are funny though. You made me laugh more than once .
Haha. No no, my journals are more messy and bare.
sublime, as usual. "Running? Not ever." this is so real.
Thank you. Do you run too?
yeah, i do. or used to. been in a slump since january. I'll resume very soon though 😌
I enjoyed reading this ❤️❤️❤️
Why am i reading my own brain😭
Hahha.