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lets talk with your heart

agree or disagree, please comment honestly, however you like to do

vincent

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you.

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow.

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will.... .

-Don Mclean


We all know Vincent van gough for his paintings those set the world record for highest prices , who hated art dealings (selling paintings)and succeeded to kill himself in his second attempt, but many of us don’t know about his loneliness and his hunger for love. He did some crazy things in his life too. He cutoff his own ears and send them to a prostitute, he loved, as a birth day present. Once she hold his ears and told him that she loves his ears most.



Life is but a dream

Yes of course it is a dream, but if I want to be little more precise, I've to tell it the longest nightmare. Will it ever be 'the end'? It's just hurting me.



Mobius strip and klien bottle not seems fascinating. String theory become strung. Its not surprising anymore to know that there is no 'knots' in the fourth dimension. Pulsars, quasars and colorful galaxies are fooling me out. Pure wisdom is loosing its appeal! What a freaking universe!

I've found a perfect description of my weeks. It is stolen from 'allangie's mess'.( Because I'm poor in arts.)
Sadday
Moanday
Tearday
Wasteday
Thirstday
Frightday
Shatterday.




i would like to go to my shit hole.
December 2009
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