Going through old blogs and I found this. A letter, directed to me, from a friend who knew me a bit too well, during a time my heart hurt a bit too much.
Dearest Pisces, I don’t think I’ve met anyone in my entire life who I’d let even sitdown for pie with your heart. No man I’ve ever met could know how to have tea with you. Maybe you’re meant to be in a different country…perhaps a different realm. You are too much a person…too much feeling… Dearest Pisces you are too intense <3 Someone just as intense is waiting for you too <3
My bff is currently on her way home to go through her mountainous closet of clothing to sell for extra crash enough to purchase me a plane ticket to Costa Rica and Nicaragua with her and her friends. If all goes as planned.. I leave in less than 3 weeks, for 10 days, the day following my first art show [which i just so happen to be doing alongside her art as well]. Today’s been an interesting day. This year however, this year has been a roller coaster.
“To know another human being in their essence, you don’t really need to know anything about them — their past, their history, their story. We confuse knowing about with a deeper knowing that is non-conceptual. Knowing about and knowing are totally different modalities. One is concerned with form, the other with the formless. One operates through thought, the other through stillness.”—Eckhart Tolle
i’m taking part in an art show in west la on the 2nd day of august and i am entirely uninspired. how am i supposed to finish these pieces when all i can do is sit here and think about everything but painting? fuck.
“How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves and the people we love. Yet we walk around, talk to people, eat and drink. We manage to function. The feelings are deep and real. Shouldn’t they paralyze us? How is it we can survive them, at least for a little while? We drive a car, we teach a class. How is it no one sees how deeply afraid we were, last night, this morning? Is it something we all hide from each other, by mutual consent? Or do we share the same secret without knowing it? Wear the same disguise?”—Don DeLillo