What do you call the lie that wants to tell the truth? What do you call the hesitation that wants to dare? I can't remember their names but I know they are the ones that dim the lights in the room every time I undo the buttons of my soul and open my shirt to reveal my chest to my authenticity.
What do you call the lie that wants to tell the truth? What do you call the hesitation that wants to dare? I can't remember their names but I know they are the ones that dim the lights in the room every time I undo the buttons of my soul and open my shirt to reveal my chest to my authenticity.
A man and his Conscience are having a conversation about how to handle what they don't know how to fear, how not to pollute their world by letting their own silences live forever in them, how not to let everything that makes them sad make them also uglier than they are. As the conversation progresses, they move into such subjects as how many walls must they construct in order to become more visible to their own ambiguity, how many bad checks must they write to each other to be happier, how many sentimental fogs must they cross together before they feel they don't have to move forward anymore. After all, honesty is not to hide the truth from others, while happiness is not to try to hide it from one's own self.
At the edge of a verdant valley, the ruins of a dilapidated farmhouse lie in the no man’s land between two warring armies that have been mercilessly fighting each other for some months now. The farmhouse has been completely wrecked, except for a wall right in the middle, the only thing left standing. Two wounded soldiers, cut off from their comrades, a long way from the logic that brought them to where they are and coming from almost diametrically opposed sides of the valley, barely reach the farmhouse seeking shelter, each one on a different side of the wall. Without noticing each other’s presence, they both lie down amid the ruins.
What do you call the lie that wants to tell the truth? What do you call the hesitation that wants to dare? I can't remember their names but I know they are the ones that dim the lights in the room every time I undo the buttons of my soul and open my shirt to reveal my chest to my authenticity.
A man and his Conscience are having a conversation about how to handle what they don't know how to fear, how not to pollute their world by letting their own silences live forever in them, how not to let everything that makes them sad make them also uglier than they are. As the conversation progresses, they move into such subjects as how many walls must they construct in order to become more visible to their own ambiguity, how many bad checks must they write to each other to be happier, how many sentimental fogs must they cross together before they feel they don't have to move forward anymore. After all, honesty is not to hide the truth from others, while happiness is not to try to hide it from one's own self.
At the edge of a verdant valley, the ruins of a dilapidated farmhouse lie in the no man’s land between two warring armies that have been mercilessly fighting each other for some months now. The farmhouse has been completely wrecked, except for a wall right in the middle, the only thing left standing. Two wounded soldiers, cut off from their comrades, a long way from the logic that brought them to where they are and coming from almost diametrically opposed sides of the valley, barely reach the farmhouse seeking shelter, each one on a different side of the wall. Without noticing each other’s presence, they both lie down amid the ruins.
