It was one of those nights, living in the heat of the the moment, a mixed pinata of emotions ready to burst out of me---swinging, swinging, swinging with the pendulum of time. I had accomplished a goal--a big one--but I was both elated and sad, as I stared out the steamy car windows and took long drags from my cigarette. I could already see this city behind me in the rearview, I was blue thinking about when the day will soon come.
|Art by Teun Hocks|
"It's like jazz," you say. "Always chasing 'it' with your own interpretations." It made a lot sense why I still didn't feel fulfilled, even after coming so far.
There is something rather absurd about art, and I guess life too. It's hard to imagine that no matter what you accomplish, we will all eventually meet the same fate and there is the possibility that there is "nothing" at the other end.
Are we rushing to get it all in? Or are we rushing towards a larger emptiness?