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KINDNESS

Purity⚜️⚜️⚜️

I’m drawing dawn under my backyard
and with eyes closed…
I dance in a chord of me
My silences have been my suns
Wing chords
touching my fists like a
swallow in love
Dream
Silence
Quiet
Delirio
I’m watching life with my feet on the moon
and stepping deep into the stars
my soul.
Flew without wanting to and always talk to the good
of my thoughts
and between blue beds
eternities.
I run away from the day and my candle sail in watercolors
of calm in the dawn.
And you want to know?…
If my perfume exhale right now
sunflowers…
Ah…. leave me up here.

CHAPTER 1. Loomings

Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and regulating the circulation.

Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.

“The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”

“The artist is the creator of beautiful things. To reveal art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. The critic is he who can translate into another manner or a new material his impression of beautiful things.”

By ace101

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