Say you are nineteen years old. Say one blue foggy night you go out to the city to find what is lost forever. Let's say the glass in the streets and the ashes and the smog become all quiet and foreign. And you walk alone, infinitely alone. And you carry with yourself a flower, a very peculiar and strange flower. A flower that was never yours: sometimes love is far away. He is back and observing that red dot in the middle of the night. Jupiter. Then he figured out the inmense planet and its moons. And the celestial objects, and Medicis loneliness amidst all. I do not remember Milton's verse, he thought, while he quietly whispered Lorenz's equations. Night, Night of this planet earth. Say: Who are you? Are you the sunset The prairie, are you the Wales, I dreamed of when I was young and dreamed? The result had three figures; deeply inside he was an astrounaut, ample et simple direct dans l'expression de l'idée. They abandoned pure mathematics for the night. Ce n'est past fortuitament that this chapter ends here. Perhaps in the quintessencial state of the individual, when life stops and the pleasure is delayed, he thought.
I wrote it, when I felt...sad. I write this chapters sporadically. And I didn't know what to do, perceiving so much hopelessness around me. Yet sadness is a beautiful feeling. Nice to see you again, SargentLard.
Sometimes it is. While I can not speak from too much personal experience sadness can be a great muse or a light in the dark. Can you really know how great hapiness is if you've never felt the lonliest feelings, or the melancholy of no end! Sometimes feeling like shit is just what you needed to feel happy and have things put into perspective. with that said The problem is that people tend to dwell and wallow in their sadness because simply looking past the obvious is harder than feeling sorry for themselves for some pitiful, fleeting, moments of comfort. They like to remain in the dark cloud of emotion out of fear and weakness. Those who can see the beauty of the sadness that haunts eventually learn to grasp its power... But sometimes sadness can not be helped...it isn't so black white as I am painting it out to be...But if such works of beauty, like that of Storni's can come out of sadness then it is a beautiful feeling. It all really comes down to your prespective on things.
Hi Storni: Please Register or Log in to view the hidden image! I read your passage, it was a bit hard for me to get to the core of what you are trying to transfer to me as a reader. I did not get sad but I felt the loneliness. Carrying a "flower that was never yours" is wonderful.
