Eiffel Tower

I, like many Pariseans at the time of its erection, think the Eiffel Tower is ugly. Its sheer mass borderlines on collapsing in on itself. Its huge base (even larger when you're standing under it) makes the top look like an antenna fit to be atop Mt. Wilson. Although the view from the top is spectacular, the view from the middle is nearly as nice: it doesn't need to be so tall! Personal biases came into play as I visited on a rainy day: it provides no shelter from the storm! It is extremely impractical, as it looks like a big metal pole sticking out of the ground. Sadly, my favorite book of French philosophy was ruinined in the rain at the tower that day. It's arching architecture is completely unoriginal, one can see such pretty symmetry on the Camps-Elysees with the Arc de Triumph. If you visit Paris, go here first if you go at all, so as to see the entirety of Paris at once. Yet its virtue is its downfall, its height makes it look absurd. Besides, if you go to Magic Mountain and see the ride Superman, it has the aesthetic appeal of the Diffel Tower: it is the tower cut in half with a roller coaster gouing up the side!

Dali's The Persistence of Memory

Salvador Dali's The Persistence of Memory is another one of my favorite works. There are many elements in this work which are typical to Dali: the ants coming out of the clock, the clocks themselves, and the ocean. Dali was a man obsessed by the eternal, and this painting is no exception to that rule. In my opinion, this work is a fantasy of the paranoid. The ants in this painting make an appearance in Dali and Bunuel's Un Chein Andalou, coming out of the hand of one of the characters. In my opinion, this is like the spreading of a disease across and from within the body, or, in this case, a clock. The fact that they have not spread very far means that it is only in the act of the sun setting, as opposed to the movement of the sun during the day that we see such action. This is clearly a sunset rather than rise for the creatures of the night are only beginning to let themselves be known. This fuzzy space of, "is it night or day?" is furthur used in the depiction of the ocean. A pool of water, elevated from the ocean like an infinity pool is an expression of the darkness's way of creating fuzzy space. One begins to wonder whether the ocean is overspilling its bounds, and the mind creates not only the extra portion of ocean, but the sides of this "pool" in a reaction to the doubt of its actual existence. This uncertainty is also expressed in the clock on the tree, where a branch, visually unsupported by anything directly underneath it, is strong enough to hold up a melting clock. These mind games are very interesting to me, as they seem to show us the blind spots of our consciousness.

Van Gogh's The Starry Night

The Starry Night holds a great deal of personal significance and past experience to me. Not only was a copy of it pout in my room as a child, but at some point in elementary school I painted a copy of my own. What struck me then was the strange brown tower-like structure on the left side at the top, watching the city lights from afar as if they somehow mirrored the starlight. Now looking at the painting, it is obvious that although the same blue pervades both city and sky, the way Van Gogh paints the stars is entirely distinct in itself. While their light is progressively brighter as one looks toward the middle, each star has it's limit of light output, like orbs of energy whose strength is limited. I believe this is an expression of the emptiness of the night sky, with its points of extreme lightness and darkness, provided by the night's vast space. Its extensive use of blue in both the sky and ground expresses the sky's enveloping nature.

Bop It

Bop it, twist it, spin it, flick it, pull it. A record somewhere in the 200s. Once you get into the zone your task becomes simple, for it is only a task. The mind adapts to the task, literally at hand. Once you break your record you're bound to come close to it next time. Provided it is legitimate, it will be broken. Now, the baseball home run record doesn't apply, because they are all illegitimate children of steroids. These actions are irreversible. If everyone jumped off a cliff, would you? Everything requires a whole lot more individuality than one can expect of the addressed child. I wouldn't want to be alone. Children are literal beings, a fact necessary in comprehending the difficulty of the use of this adage. But if we can't expect all adults to act a certain way, trying to change the children to act a certain way is not futile or useless but expecting a lot, which comes to my final conclusion, that the idea that we must grow and be responsible happens in spurts of expression is false. That real growth is slowly and internally harbored and waits for those moments of expression. It is in the invisibility of the form that makes us believe that creative spurts are the way it should be. This entry was slowly brought up over a long period of time, it is the flow which is spontaneous.

For those who I don't know

I'm sorry I missed you
I'd meet you, but not everyone likes a gossip queen
Or a tattle tale, like my neighbor called me
But if I tattle tale her
My parents will lose a friend
Or not
But I'll be a bully
Doesn't everyone want to lose?
In some way or another, we want to be free
Whether or not we know what it is or not
Everything is slowly dying
Intellectually I am a believer in progress
Forever stuck in place
Forever striving for an acceptance
Of myself, of those around me
All there is is internal/external
Or so they say
The importance of the world lies in decision
Over my contentment and perpetual sleep
Of volume on high
Can't hear my voice
As more therapeutic
Than to listen to it
Though easier to maintain, harder to change

Gobbledegook

I can't explain it but I feel like everything I work towards is fleeting
It doesn't matter how hard I try, the end result is fleeting
It comes in moments of pure terror
It comes in moments of the idealized
Whatever it is I know it when it happens
You'd have to feel it to know it
And if you missed it, you want it
And if you saw it, you'd want more
Only problem being it's being beyond my will
And if I try to do something, it is only to prove I can't
Writing is therapeutic
Reading never leads me where I want to go most
Map it on the body
Safe to stay there if you never want to see it again
What is this desire for the unknown always changing
Knowing what I know now, maybe there's nothing left
To pun, to say, to fight, to do, to become, to be
But now, when I am most proud, inspired, how to end?
The question asked, the answer null