I have a flickr account in which I used to ramble on incessantly and very often to a point of exposition fueled by carelessness and with a sense of outer pressure that makes me cave. There are days when things, feelings, cancel each other out and the resulting feeling is one of apathy and sleepiness. Yesterday and today were such days.
A painter in San Francisco on flickr, noted once how these were so periodic for me. I told him I had noticed. There's just always a week or a few days of withdrawal from things. I want things to stop. I want to exist somewhere outside. If I were a song, I'd be a song about wanting to be an animal.
Luckily, there's art. Not my own. But art - in poetry, in a painting, in a photograph, in song or film. Beauty, when things get so gray, can be so refreshing and releasing.
And I'm reminded to stop all the worrying and the petty anger and to breathe.
I guess it's only said so much because more complex words just won't do: sometimes you just have to let go.
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i have no problems letting go the outside things. what's inside however, i hang on long long time, in some cases forever. i feel like letting go something which seemed so special to me that time will ultimately make it senseless from the start, and that would make me a fool. can there be something good about being a fool?
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