sábado, 5 de enero de 2013

Trails



“So that’s how we live our lives. No matter how deep and fatal the loss, no matter how important the thing that's stolen from us - that's snatched right out of our hands - even if we are left completely changed, with only the outer layer of skin from before, we continue to play out our lives this way, in silence. We draw ever nearer to the end of our allotted span of time, bidding it farewell as it trails off behind. Repeating, often adroitly, the endless deeds of the everyday. Leaving behind a feeling of insurmountable emptiness...


Maybe, in some distant place, everything is already, quietly, lost.
Or at least there exists a silent place where everything can disappear, melting together in a single, overlapping figure. And as we live our lives we discover - drawing toward us the thin threads attached to each - what has been lost. I closed my eyes and tried to bring to mind as many beautiful lost things as I could. Drawing them closer, holding on to them. Knowing all the while that their lives are fleeting.”

Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart




Medium - pencil and GIMP

     

"I did not mean to shout, Just drive,
Just get us out, dead or alive.
The road's too long to mention —
Lord, it's something to see! —
laid down by the
Good Intentions Paving Company,
all the way to the thing
we've been playing at, darling.
I can see that you're wearing
your staying-hat, darling.

For the time being, all is well.
Won't you love me a spell?
This is blindness, beyond all conceiving,
while behind us, the road is leaving,
and leaving, and falling back
like a rope gone slack."

- Joanna Newsom - 

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