Friday, May 12, 2017

Abre Los Ojos

 I had planned to post something a bit more significant yesterday, but was left emotionally debilitated after a brief encounter with wasted potential.  I sat around all day, staring at the wall, holding my little baby Eroica close and fighting breaking down into tears in disgust of what society and religion do to this potentially beautiful species;
 namely, what parents, influenced by said institutions, and fueled by inherently selfish motivation, do to their own children.  I was victimized by it just as much as everyone else, but I've been fighting it most my life, and it breaks my heart, it tears the very intricate fibers of my soul, to see it continue to happen to those who seem to put up no fight at all, fumbling on like mindless drones in society's consumption machine;
 with as much energy that I have invested into getting these potentially beautiful souls to see the painfully obvious, a little part of me dies, my very hope in humanity, each time I realize that there is nothing I can do about it.  Yesterday I wallowed in that.  This morning, Ayn was there to kick me in the face; to pull my waning heart out of my chest and show it to me; to make me realize my sense of life, and remind me that I need to stop trying to get other people to understand the beautiful world that exists in my mind, when everyone has their own individual sense of life, whether it be shaped by delusion or reality, fear or duty, hearsay or fact, et cetera, it is what it is, and they have to figure that out for themselves.
 "We all got something important to say,
But talking's a waste of time."

  ~ Cry Baby
I was also stressing the aftermath of another recent shoot, worried about the sheer stupidity of ignorant reactions to something as base and simple as the human body, when I'm just trying to show people how beautiful they are, and how beautiful this world that we live in can be.  The last paragraph of this morning's chapter, Art and Sense of Life: "When one learns to translate the meaning of an artwork into objective terms, one discovers that nothing is as potent as art in exposing the essence of a man's character.  An artist reveals his naked soul in his work-- and so, gentle reader, do you when you respond to it."  - 34

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