As my grandfather once said:
Precipice!
Can I be outside the whale?
Stars, ever elusive...
We beings manipulate systems through the conversion of energy into order. Like when preparing a feast: To achieve cosmological beauty the agent must direct elements in a symphony, often a particular line runs cataclysmically into others. Like the strings rising, the water boils, but never over. Until the engorged bassoon erupts.
At the moment of poise, (nay, equipoise!), where timing and aesthetic become the very pithy essence, we leverage the natural synergenic tendency of matter to strike a tableaux, with form and technique ideally framed.
P.xx.B
(mood: A refined sense of regret)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment