Its almost astonishing how the world revolves around so much sadness. To evoke a dream in someone is almost placid in its result. I feel, like I have talked to so many people everyday trying to explain their dreams to me and how they are getting their lives together. I wonder in its perplexities, how life ever mirrors true devotion to an idea. Its almost like we are just constant ideas that search for meaning. I want meaning in my life, but I worry about the depths at which we live...the day to day routine that picks us up each morning. It's not in any way for me gratifying.
So, life feels lost. Dreams feel vulnerable because the big idea feels so far fetched. Its scary, because one wonders why we go through it. Why do people constantly talk to stay connected where getting the emotional "High" is so important? I'm doing this and this and trying to achieve this...that's what it all means. The pleasure from the small things, the way people try to differentiate themselves with being "creative"- Its all almost deafening- because it just feels like constant white noise spiraling around. People talking...just talking. The higher points in life seem punctuated with the feeling that this isn't substantial enough to last and there must be more.
There must always be more....why? Its an illusion in its own right, because the white noise spills around from person to person and all we do is talk and infiltrate ideas between persons. I'm not convinced that it all makes sense, because the talking never feels sincere in its execution and maybe the themes in life seem to large to ever fathom, but what's the point when it already feels like an emotionless pit of self-craving attention.
-For Salvador Dali
