CRAVING CREATIVITY
I'm a person who loves the opportunity to sit quietly and let my mind meditate without a thought as I lay down graphite on the surface of a large sheet of paper. I see the grain of the once wetted pulp fibers reveal themselves. With this simple act, my body becomes electrified; I'm alive.
I'll stare at an object, for too long sometimes, contemplating the nature of its being. Consider an autumn leaf; brown, yes. However, brown of various hues and values of gray. It's worn edges remind me of the shores far away lands, gerrymandered by the hands of the ancient Cartesian. It's dead capillary veins once breathed with life, now an ephemeral fossil remains. A fuzz of dead moss covers the leaf, giving a negligible yellow tinge, but when rubbed off, reveals the glossy surface of the leaf itself showing the deep color that will eventually contribute to the richness of the Earth. The leaf curls at it's edges like chocolate shavings. It brings me to thoughts of man's quest for his purpose or reason for appearing in this universe. Furthermore, to no avail, tragically dies and as he reaches for his last breath with full limbs stretched out as he "[goes ] gentle into that good night," and "[rages], [rages] at the dyeing of the light." He and his limbs like the leaf, curls and expires. Yet, you and I, we are still here. We are still alive. Electrified.
I'll stare at an object, for too long sometimes, contemplating the nature of its being. Consider an autumn leaf; brown, yes. However, brown of various hues and values of gray. It's worn edges remind me of the shores far away lands, gerrymandered by the hands of the ancient Cartesian. It's dead capillary veins once breathed with life, now an ephemeral fossil remains. A fuzz of dead moss covers the leaf, giving a negligible yellow tinge, but when rubbed off, reveals the glossy surface of the leaf itself showing the deep color that will eventually contribute to the richness of the Earth. The leaf curls at it's edges like chocolate shavings. It brings me to thoughts of man's quest for his purpose or reason for appearing in this universe. Furthermore, to no avail, tragically dies and as he reaches for his last breath with full limbs stretched out as he "[goes ] gentle into that good night," and "[rages], [rages] at the dyeing of the light." He and his limbs like the leaf, curls and expires. Yet, you and I, we are still here. We are still alive. Electrified.
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