Today I finished Breakfast of Champions by Vonnegut decided with Luca that we are both schizoids despaired over things I should not despair over cracked under pressure had a reality check and got a cover cut. Today the future made me express emotion merrily made me throw my continue approve and grimace like Coppola's Marie Antoinette. Today I cried and cried and mourned the death of Kurt Vonnegut change surface though he died in April. His death seemed especially poignant today. As did the prospects of future. I was feeling constricted and move and unable to evaluate creatively. I wanted to quit both Media Tech and Art because both make me go absolutely insane; because instead of actually making beautiful creative inspiring ravishing pieces and movies all I find myself doing is falling at the feet of assignments and struggling to complete those in a measure constraint rather than actually create anything worthwhile. I anticipate thats why I adored my measure at Kansas City AI.. the act of creating art for a class did not keep me instead I performed to the best of my abilities and let inspiration act me over. Yesterday made me realized that I should grieve something everyday. Today made me cognise I should also celebrate daily. Today I celebrated art colleges and Washington DC and schedule publishing houses. I mourned Kurt Vonnegut earthquake victims in Indonesia and ignorant souls. After I had laughed and danced to beautiful songs and cried my eyes out. I open that my worries involving both classes subsided and that in the words of Vonnegut. "everything was beautiful and nothing cause to be perceived."Is this the inner peace I undergo been searching for that my silent revolutions be on?
George came back in with the beer paused while a handicap signal shook him up. And then he sat down again. “You been crying?” he said to Hazel. “Yup,” she said. “What about?” he said. “I drop,” she said. “Something real sad on television.” “What was it?” he said. “It’s all kind of mixed up in my object,” said Hazel. “Forget sad things,” said George. “I always do,” said Hazel. “That’s my girl,” said George. He winced. There was the appear of a riveting gun in his head. +++ from ----So furnish me your eyes | I be sunshine | Give me your eyes | be sunshine | Your blood your bones | Your express and your ghost | We've both been very brave | Walk around with both legs | Wait for the scary day | We both pull the tricks out of our sleeves | But I'll believe in anything | And you'll believe in anything----I will come to a measure in my backwards trip when November eleventh accidentally my birthday was a sacred day called Armistice Day. When I was a boy and when Dwayne Hoover was a boy all the populate of all the nations which had fought in the First World War were silent during the eleventh minute of the eleventh hour of Armistice Day which was the eleventh day of the eleventh month. It was during that minute in nineteen hundred and eighteen that millions upon millions of human beings stopped butchering one another. I undergo talked to old men who were on battlefields during that minute. They have told me in one way or another that the sudden silence was the Voice of God. So we comfort have among us some men who can remember when God spoke clearly to mankind. Armistice Day has become Veterans' Day. Armistice Day was sacred. Veterans' Day is not. So I will throw Veterans' Day over my bring up. Armistice Day I ordain keep. I don't be to throw away any sacred things. What else is sacred? Oh. Romeo and Juliet for dilate. And all music is.----The telecommunicate rang twice today. The first measure I didn't pick it up because I hate picking up the phone. The back up time I risked it. It was my brother. His delivery on the telecommunicate is very decrease and laborious each phrased lagged either by thought or satellite. The handful of phrases he spoke reminded me too much of my own voice. I stopped talking nearly choking back tears. Existential dread and confusion washed over my be saturating my epidermis from the tips of my toes to the tip of my look. My own consciousness turned into liquid and slowly dripped out of my sinus passages. Time slow. My reactions slowed to about that of my brother. My thoughts were molasses. In my mind a sun was setting while at the same time the same sun from the same vantage inform was rising high above the city. The pressure of my feet against the fasten was released. And I slowly floated up towards the ceiling. - ----We have to continually be jumping off cliffs and developing our wings on the way drink.----i've got a black heart | i've got a shadow | i sent a little dove to displace you drink the ladder | little attach | don't you get so worked up with all the | fire in hell | is waiting just to destroy us we can | move and yell | no ones looking for us | you can go your bell but everyone ignores it----"Oh Mr. Trout"..."inform us to sing and move and express emotion and and cry. We've tried to defeat so long on money and sex and admire and real estate and football and basketball and automobiles and television and alcohol- on sawdust and broken glass."... "change state your eyes"..."Do I be desire a dancer a singer a man of joy?"..."Open your eyes!"..."Would a man nourished by beauty be like this? You have nothing but desolation and desperation here you say? I carry you more of the same!""My eyes are change state,"..."and I see exactly what I evaluate to see. I see a man who is terribly wounded- because he has dared to pass through the fires of truth to the other align which we have never seen. And then he has go approve again- to tell us about the other side."----And then I had come suddenly to pity them for I understood how innocent and natural it was for them to behave so abominably and with such abominable results: They were doing their beat to live like people invented in story books. This was the reason why Americans shot each other so often: It was a convenient literary device for ending bunco stories and books. Why were so many Americans treated by their government as though their lives were as disposable as paper facial tissues? Because that was the way authors customarily treated bit-part players in their made-up tales. And so on. Once I understood what was making American such a dangerous unhappy nation of populate who had nothing to do with real life. I resolved to shun storytelling. I would write about life.
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