You will be perplexed by the questions or deceived by some of the answers; there are many. You may not even understand the art, but you shouldn’t be confused by its purpose. Art is art, in any state or format. The process and the feelings and emotions it provides are personal. It is felt more than it is viewed, or read, or watched It is experienced. Art is the reason more than the result.
Every word you write is important. Each mistake you make — typos, grammatical errors, incorrect word usage, misplaced punctuation — is crucial to your writing on any level. You learn as you go, many times without trying, knowledge gained through acquisition. Write on. Let is out. All those thoughts, feelings, and observations will lead you somewhere. Sentence upon sentiment, you will get there. If you don’t make a mistake, how will you know how to correct them? Flaws and all, we are human. Our mistakes make us stronger.
collective moments will impact each of us individually will you share your thoughts and feelings or let others try and figure out you are as damaged as the rest of us connected by emotions we may not understand or acknowledge how we hold it together
Left brain. Right brain. A delicate balance. A left-handed Gemini; no stranger to controversy, but I can’t take sides. I dart back and forth regularly between a practical reality, where I must live, and the fractured imagination where I want to be. And I, a dreamer, know this. We all dream, of course we do; there you find other people, and you. Déjà vu. We’ve been here before. Pyjamas in bed, most of the time. Insomnia. You question the whys. Never settling for the answers, there is always another way. Another sleep (when else would we dream), another day. Imagination can soothe. Practicality will confuse. My imagination is as practical as my every day is creative. This is my choice, my voice, and where I choose to live. I’ve been here before. I will come back often.
“An idea is salvation by imagination.” -Frank Lloyd Wright
We can listen, now and again, and believe the answers and the reasons (or the truths) are right there, caught up in the commotion of the daily dread or tangled with the rancid emotions of what was said.
Between the multiple-choice answers laid out, the excuses we make up, and a whitewashed history reformatted by ever-changing algorithms, we struggle with undisputed ignorance, illusions of someday, and the pumpkin-spiced-reality of all that is wrong with advertising.
We try to take precautions because we have all become accustomed to impositions, disappointment, continual infringements on our privacy, and the errors of the day.
The expansive nature of circumstances beyond our control have whittled down our objections to the lucid facts of fake news, arbitrary transgressions of those who should know better, and the next new thing.
The ugly truth is that we follow certain hypocrisies and condone behavior that insults our fellow beings, and ultimately ourselves.