Je ne comprends pas l'humanité.
Je doute que je ne le fera jamais.
Le monde se sent si distant
Je tend la main et ne peux pas le toucher
Verre m'entoure au quotidien
Ceux que j'amais entourent
Ils ne voient pas le verre et se demandent
Pourquoi ils ne peuvent pas toucher ni m'entendre
Je ne pense pas que je puisse briser le verre
Mais je ne pense pas que je veux
J'aime le monde qu'il fournit
Et je ne veux pas jamais quitter
Je ne comprend pas l'humanite
Je dout que je ne le fera jamais
Mais je doute que vous allez compendre cela
Surtout parce que vous ne pouvez pa lire le francais
Sunday, October 20, 2013
no.8
Sanity.
What is it in the first place?
san-i-ty: the condition of having a healthy mind : the condition of being sane
What is considered a healthy mind?
Is a healthy mind just a brain that functions a human to live?
Or is a healthy mind a brain that can process social ques and propriety?
And if it is the later, who is to say what is socially acceptable?
What if someone said it was socially acceptable to wear shoes that look like fish?
Would you do it?
Or would you want to continue wearing tan loafers and have others make fun of you and say your mad?
What if a man likes to write very creative stories about evil queens and pastries that change your size, but the world says hes crazy for writing about such mad notions when he could be writing about government and grammar?
Well I'm sure Lewis Carroll thought the same thing.
Who is to say what is sane?
Whoever said that looking at the moon too long would make you insane?
Because I stare at the moon in awe quite frequently.
Whoever said that is the mad one.
They are missing out on the beautiful glow the moon provides.
You raging lunatic,
Charles Darnell
What is it in the first place?
san-i-ty: the condition of having a healthy mind : the condition of being sane
What is considered a healthy mind?
Is a healthy mind just a brain that functions a human to live?
Or is a healthy mind a brain that can process social ques and propriety?
And if it is the later, who is to say what is socially acceptable?
What if someone said it was socially acceptable to wear shoes that look like fish?
Would you do it?
Or would you want to continue wearing tan loafers and have others make fun of you and say your mad?
What if a man likes to write very creative stories about evil queens and pastries that change your size, but the world says hes crazy for writing about such mad notions when he could be writing about government and grammar?
Well I'm sure Lewis Carroll thought the same thing.
Who is to say what is sane?
Whoever said that looking at the moon too long would make you insane?
Because I stare at the moon in awe quite frequently.
Whoever said that is the mad one.
They are missing out on the beautiful glow the moon provides.
You raging lunatic,
Charles Darnell
untitled
Do you ever make mistakes or say things that make you inevitably regret everything you have ever done that lead you up to the moment you screwed up?
Yeah, me too.
Until recently, I assumed that art should be created one way (see post no.2). Until recently, I thought that only deep, symbolic, wordy art was the only true art there was. In how I create art, that may be the case, but it is not the case for everyone else. I was only seeing art through my eyes, and not through the eyes of the artist themselves.
Basically what I'm saying is that I thought I was a Parisian native walking through the Louvre, knowing all the pieces and the history behind them all when in all actuality.... I was a Canadian tourist wearing white sneakers and just waiting to see the Mona Lisa.
As I sit here and watch Hugo for the thousandth time, I finally see now that we are not to judge or understand art if we don't even know who the artist is. We can not fully know how to interpret it if we do not know the history that came before the art. All we can do is appreciate it for what we see in it as an outsider, because all art deserves praise. All art deserves to be accepted.
My humblest apologies,
Charles Darnell
Yeah, me too.
Until recently, I assumed that art should be created one way (see post no.2). Until recently, I thought that only deep, symbolic, wordy art was the only true art there was. In how I create art, that may be the case, but it is not the case for everyone else. I was only seeing art through my eyes, and not through the eyes of the artist themselves.
Basically what I'm saying is that I thought I was a Parisian native walking through the Louvre, knowing all the pieces and the history behind them all when in all actuality.... I was a Canadian tourist wearing white sneakers and just waiting to see the Mona Lisa.
As I sit here and watch Hugo for the thousandth time, I finally see now that we are not to judge or understand art if we don't even know who the artist is. We can not fully know how to interpret it if we do not know the history that came before the art. All we can do is appreciate it for what we see in it as an outsider, because all art deserves praise. All art deserves to be accepted.
My humblest apologies,
Charles Darnell
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
no.7
You want to know what my space jam is?
Fine.
I guess I'll just say it.
My space jam would be to be put on the damn Hall of Fame.
I just want my work to be appreciated and recognized.
But you know what the worst part of all this is?
I can't fully be recognized because none of you even know who I am.
You don't see me in the halls.
You don't see that I'm sitting right next to you in class.
You don't pay attention to my comments and inputs.
You wouldn't even care if I dropped out of school because I am invisible to you.
You only notice me when I comment on your own posts that are filled with hipster angst and gifs.
Even then you only see me as Charles.
I guess I just want someone to say "(my real name) did a great job. Did you see their post? The symbolism in it was incredible! And the realness of it?! Man, you guys really need to read it."
That's all I want.
I just want you to like me.
I hate you all,
Charles Darnell
Fine.
I guess I'll just say it.
My space jam would be to be put on the damn Hall of Fame.
I just want my work to be appreciated and recognized.
But you know what the worst part of all this is?
I can't fully be recognized because none of you even know who I am.
You don't see me in the halls.
You don't see that I'm sitting right next to you in class.
You don't pay attention to my comments and inputs.
You wouldn't even care if I dropped out of school because I am invisible to you.
You only notice me when I comment on your own posts that are filled with hipster angst and gifs.
Even then you only see me as Charles.
I guess I just want someone to say "(my real name) did a great job. Did you see their post? The symbolism in it was incredible! And the realness of it?! Man, you guys really need to read it."
That's all I want.
I just want you to like me.
I hate you all,
Charles Darnell
Monday, October 7, 2013
Vronsky
He stands with tired eyes.
The wet redness underneath them tell it all.
He holds a gun up to it.
He aims the pistol at all the things that brought him here.
He aims it at the life he has now.
So tired.
Lord please let him be, he's had enough.
He thought that love would be enough,
but It's not enough if its with the wrong person.
But maybe she was the right person.
Maybe she was just with the wrong person.
He didn't know.
All he knew was that he had lost.
That the only option was to give up.
He couldn't give in anymore.
He looked like a weeping angel all in white.
The frayed silver knots outlined his exhausted physique.
The blond curls could no longer feel her touch.
He was covered in light and love,
But all he could see was blinding light.
All he could make out was the sun.
The golden rays that engulfed her many nights ago.
That gorgeous luminosity that wrapped itself around the beauty.
The single star in his world of darkness.
The glowing moon that would be his ultimate demise.
In the midst of all the darkness surrounding them, all he could see was her.
He would always see her.
His eyes would forever find her in everything.
They were so tired.
They were so blue.
Oh Lord, please let his eyes close.
Please be merciful and let him go blind.
Save him from the darkness before him now.
Let the darkness become oblivion to him.
Let him rest.
Let him lay the weapon down.
Ease his mind.
Let the sun go down forever.
"He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."
-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
The wet redness underneath them tell it all.
He holds a gun up to it.
He aims the pistol at all the things that brought him here.
He aims it at the life he has now.
So tired.
Lord please let him be, he's had enough.
He thought that love would be enough,
but It's not enough if its with the wrong person.
But maybe she was the right person.
Maybe she was just with the wrong person.
He didn't know.
All he knew was that he had lost.
That the only option was to give up.
He couldn't give in anymore.
He looked like a weeping angel all in white.
The frayed silver knots outlined his exhausted physique.
The blond curls could no longer feel her touch.
He was covered in light and love,
But all he could see was blinding light.
All he could make out was the sun.
The golden rays that engulfed her many nights ago.
That gorgeous luminosity that wrapped itself around the beauty.
The single star in his world of darkness.
The glowing moon that would be his ultimate demise.
In the midst of all the darkness surrounding them, all he could see was her.
He would always see her.
His eyes would forever find her in everything.
They were so tired.
They were so blue.
Oh Lord, please let his eyes close.
Please be merciful and let him go blind.
Save him from the darkness before him now.
Let the darkness become oblivion to him.
Let him rest.
Let him lay the weapon down.
Ease his mind.
Let the sun go down forever.
"He stepped down, trying not to look long at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her, like the sun, even without looking."
-Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Sunday, October 6, 2013
no.6
Honestly, I have no idea how to write about death.
Have I experienced the death of family and friends?
Yes.
I have.
Many times.
Too many times actually.
But my experiences with it will probably mean absolutely nothing to you.
Because in reality, death is different to every single person.
To some it may be a relief.
To others is may be the heaviest burden of all.
And to few, it may even be a joyous experience.
I don't know what you know.
I can't feel what you have felt.
I cannot possibly understand how it is for you.
So how can I in good conscious persuade you to think one way about death if you won't understand what I'm trying to provoke in you?
I have no right to shove my thoughts about this subject down your throat when its so personal.
Maybe in a sense I'm not ready to talk about it yet.
It's still too personal for me.
I guess I don't want to talk about having my second parents dragged out of my front door at all hours on stretchers by strangers.
I guess I don't want to talk about how the girl who saved my life had her's taken away, in what felt like seconds.
I guess I'm not ready to talk about how I faced being killed everyday for two years, and having to have an FBI agent teach me how to check my tail and hide in my basement if shots were fired.
I guess I'm not ready to talk about digging graves for my cats yet.
I guess I just don't want to show you that side of me yet because frankly, I don't trust you.
Yet here I am.
Your untrusting therapy patient,
Charles Darnell
Have I experienced the death of family and friends?
Yes.
I have.
Many times.
Too many times actually.
But my experiences with it will probably mean absolutely nothing to you.
Because in reality, death is different to every single person.
To some it may be a relief.
To others is may be the heaviest burden of all.
And to few, it may even be a joyous experience.
I don't know what you know.
I can't feel what you have felt.
I cannot possibly understand how it is for you.
So how can I in good conscious persuade you to think one way about death if you won't understand what I'm trying to provoke in you?
I have no right to shove my thoughts about this subject down your throat when its so personal.
Maybe in a sense I'm not ready to talk about it yet.
It's still too personal for me.
I guess I don't want to talk about having my second parents dragged out of my front door at all hours on stretchers by strangers.
I guess I don't want to talk about how the girl who saved my life had her's taken away, in what felt like seconds.
I guess I'm not ready to talk about how I faced being killed everyday for two years, and having to have an FBI agent teach me how to check my tail and hide in my basement if shots were fired.
I guess I'm not ready to talk about digging graves for my cats yet.
I guess I just don't want to show you that side of me yet because frankly, I don't trust you.
Yet here I am.
Your untrusting therapy patient,
Charles Darnell
Sunday, September 29, 2013
My Mind Won't Shut Up Tonight
Take my arm.
I want you to look at it closely.
Do you see the small mole?
Do you see my veins?
Do you see the green blood pulsing underneath them?
No?
But you can see the green right?
Ok.
Notice how fair my skin is.
Its practically a spring roll wrapper.
Its thin and opaque enough to see through.
Like my soul.
I'm just messing with you.
I don't have one.
Politics are thin and opaque.
The participants think that they put up a thick wall,
made up of promises, speeches and white teeth.
But really if you step back and look closely,
all you can see is money and affairs.
Oh and corruption.
That too.
You know what's corrupt?
The way my mother plays Monopoly.
*canned laughter*
Man, Regina Spektor gets me.
Her songs are written like the thoughts that
go through my brain.
That and she has a thing for red lipstick too.
Its been a while since I've kissed someone.
That sounds nice right about now.
I wonder what its like to be in a relationship with someone
who is willing to kiss you whenever you like?
Is it amazing?
Or would you just get bored of kissing the same person all the time?
Would you ever want variety?
I guess not if you really really like that person.
Maybe it would get better every time.
But I wouldn't know.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
What am I doing with my life?
Oh right, I spend about 3 plus hours on the internet and Tumblr everyday.
That's what I'm doing.
But where is that going to take me?
Probably to a new therapist.
And what will the therapist tell me to do?
To get off the computer and make friends, maybe date around.
Can I do that?
Probably not.
What was I talking about?
I want you to look at it closely.
Do you see the small mole?
Do you see my veins?
Do you see the green blood pulsing underneath them?
No?
But you can see the green right?
Ok.
Notice how fair my skin is.
Its practically a spring roll wrapper.
Its thin and opaque enough to see through.
Like my soul.
I'm just messing with you.
I don't have one.
Politics are thin and opaque.
The participants think that they put up a thick wall,
made up of promises, speeches and white teeth.
But really if you step back and look closely,
all you can see is money and affairs.
Oh and corruption.
That too.
You know what's corrupt?
The way my mother plays Monopoly.
*canned laughter*
Man, Regina Spektor gets me.
Her songs are written like the thoughts that
go through my brain.
That and she has a thing for red lipstick too.
Its been a while since I've kissed someone.
That sounds nice right about now.
I wonder what its like to be in a relationship with someone
who is willing to kiss you whenever you like?
Is it amazing?
Or would you just get bored of kissing the same person all the time?
Would you ever want variety?
I guess not if you really really like that person.
Maybe it would get better every time.
But I wouldn't know.
I don't know what the hell I'm doing.
What am I doing with my life?
Oh right, I spend about 3 plus hours on the internet and Tumblr everyday.
That's what I'm doing.
But where is that going to take me?
Probably to a new therapist.
And what will the therapist tell me to do?
To get off the computer and make friends, maybe date around.
Can I do that?
Probably not.
What was I talking about?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)