(there is) no other means of escaping from one's consciousness than to deny it, to look upon it as an organic disease of the terrestrial intelligence - a disease which we must endeavor to cure by an action which must appear to us an action of violent and willful madness, but which, on the other side of our appearances, is probably an action of health. ("Of Immortality")
Music is a form that tends to give shape to rules, social mores, social attitudes, feelings__t does this in a very beautiful, fluid way. To me the issue of form and formlessness is most strong in the theme of mortality versus a human wish for immortality of a sort. Take, for example, the definition of beauty in fashion. Remember what Alison says at the beginning? She says when she was young she didn__ know what beautiful was. She looked at this woman who everyone was saying was beautiful and she didn__ even know what they were talking about. I experienced that when I was a child. If I loved someone I thought they were really beautiful. And then eventually, I began to get it, the social concept of beauty. Not that I think beautiful is completely imaginary, but beauty is so wide ranging and fluid. Yet there__ a need to say: __his is what it is, and it__ not changing; we__e taking a picture of it to hold it still._ It__ like an impulse to put up a building meant to last forever. An urge to grab and hold something in place when nothing human can be grabbed and held in place. We come into these physical bodies . . . whatever we are takes this shape that is so particular and distinct__yes, nose, mouth__nd then it gradually begins to disintegrate. Eventually it__ going to dissolve completely. It__ a huge problem for people; we can understand it, but it breaks our hearts. And so we__e constantly trying to pin something down or leave a trace that will last forever. __nd this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita . . ._ What other immortality will anyone share?
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Music is a form that tends to give shape to rules, social mores, social attitudes, feelings__t does this in a very beautiful, fluid way. To me the issue of form and formlessness is most strong in the theme of mortality versus a human wish for immortality of a sort. Take, for example, the definition of beauty in fashion. Remember what Alison says at the beginning? She says when she was young she didn__ know what beautiful was. She looked at this woman who everyone was saying was beautiful and she didn__ even know what they were talking about. I experienced that when I was a child. If I loved someone I thought they were really beautiful. And then eventually, I began to get it, the social concept of beauty. Not that I think beautiful is completely imaginary, but beauty is so wide ranging and fluid. Yet there__ a need to say: __his is what it is, and it__ not changing; we__e taking a picture of it to hold it still._ It__ like an impulse to put up a building meant to last forever. An urge to grab and hold something in place when nothing human can be grabbed and held in place. We come into these physical bodies . . . whatever we are takes this shape that is so particular and distinct__yes, nose, mouth__nd then it gradually begins to disintegrate. Eventually it__ going to dissolve completely. It__ a huge problem for people; we can understand it, but it breaks our hearts. And so we__e constantly trying to pin something down or leave a trace that will last forever. __nd this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Lolita . . ._ What other immortality will anyone share?
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Human unhappiness is evidence of our immortality.
You are the moon that breaks the night . You are the fear that I hate to fight. Times are wrong in all that is done. My treasure is love that I give to only one. Cherrish the treasures given to your heart and never let anything hurt from the start. You chose your path so accept and believe, that peace love and light are needed to breathe.
With my guitar, I could write my own stories, my own poems, and my own destiny. No one could take away the feelings, the emotions or the truth of my notes. They could hide secrets and provoke images of words that never should be whispered. I could compose the melody of my aching heart and write into it my own happily ever after since no one seemed to think after all my suffering I deserved one. That's okay, I would make my own.
I want to wake up every day I have left to the warmth of your lips on mine, the sound of your voice singing next to me, the feel of your fingers on my skin and your heart beating music with mine.
If life throws you a few bad notes or vibrations, don't let them interrupt or alter your song.