Monday, June 29, 2015
Making Things Beautiful
It occurs to the present author - one who has spent in inordinate amount of lifespan on reading, music, and movies - that, while there will be things that move the present author, said author will never create something that moves someone else. To wit, various attempts at moving prose have been stymied by a lack of talent. Even if some sort of work the present author constructed moved just one person, it would be most certainly considered a victory. As said victory conditions are impossible to meet, the author will go back to viewing works of art that said author can never hope to achieve. This will, at times, create a deep sadness and frustration in the author, and summon a sort of hopelessness with regards to one's lot in life. Given that, as all things, the present author will die, this hopelessness is cromulent in its existence, and justified by way of the futility of all endeavors.