Comment maintenant?
,
,
,
je
ne
sais
pas
:(
I walked into Fairbanks Hall, with my shoes slightly wet from the rain today, for an almost abstract class; Mathematical Economics.
I walked past a type writer sitting alone in the Art gallery which had a huge label
above him, on the wall saying
"Please Use Me."
A smaller label was pasted on the table just in front of the typewriter which read,
"write one thing you do know, and one thing you don't."
I typed slowly and steadily, letter by letter, and learnt that some things must be done slowly in order to be completed well. I was sure I had forgotten about that.
.
.
I clipped my sheet onto the wall, along together with the others, and walked 4 flights of stairs up to class, but couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop thinking about the things I knew, and the things I didn't. The things I thought about made me very sad, and it made Mathematical Economics less interesting than it usually was.
Is this, Art?
Does it lead you to your inner, subconscious self, whom you forget about All The Time, with the fleeting moments, people and activities distracting you? How is it that the physical doesn't feel as real as the unconscious?
,
,
,
je
ne
sais
pas
:(
I walked into Fairbanks Hall, with my shoes slightly wet from the rain today, for an almost abstract class; Mathematical Economics.
I walked past a type writer sitting alone in the Art gallery which had a huge label
above him, on the wall saying
"Please Use Me."
A smaller label was pasted on the table just in front of the typewriter which read,
"write one thing you do know, and one thing you don't."
I typed slowly and steadily, letter by letter, and learnt that some things must be done slowly in order to be completed well. I was sure I had forgotten about that.
.
.
I clipped my sheet onto the wall, along together with the others, and walked 4 flights of stairs up to class, but couldn't stop thinking about it. I couldn't stop thinking about the things I knew, and the things I didn't. The things I thought about made me very sad, and it made Mathematical Economics less interesting than it usually was.
Is this, Art?
Does it lead you to your inner, subconscious self, whom you forget about All The Time, with the fleeting moments, people and activities distracting you? How is it that the physical doesn't feel as real as the unconscious?
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