[b]Carson McCullers
Wonderful music like this was the worst hurt there could be. The whole world was this symphony, and there was not enough of her to listen.[/b]
Or, as likely as not, the other way around.
Well, if you know what I mean.
Any form of art can only develop by means of single mutations by individual creators. If only traditional conventions are used an art will die, and the widening of an art form is bound to seem strange at first, and awkward. Any growing thing must go through awkward stages. The creator who is misunderstood because of his breach of convention may say to himself, 'I seem strange to you, but anyway I am alive.
Or sometimes, sure, it’s all just bullshit.
I wish I was somebody else except me.
Trust me: except me too.
But now no music was in her mind. That was a funny thing. It was like she was shut out from the inside room. Sometimes a quick little tune would come and go - but she never went into the inside room with music like she used to do. It was like she was too tense. Or maybe because it was like the store took all her energy and time . . . She wanted to stay in the inside room but she didn’t know how. It was like the inside room was locked somewhere away from her. A very hard thing to understand.
The inside room. Wow. Just the thought of it…
But you haven’t never loved God nor even nair person. You hard and tough as cowhide. But just the same I knows you. This afternoon you going to roam all over the place without never being satisfied. You going to traipse all around like you haves to find something lost. You going to work yourself up with excitement. Your heart going to beat hard enough to kill you because you don’t love and don’t have peace. And then some day you going to bust loose and be ruined.
At this point, he thought, I’ll take my chances.
Coming down was the hardest part of any climbing.
But then of course there’s Sisyphus.