If you can’t appreciate color while appreciating black and white, how can you appreciate art? The colors soften the palate, and moisten the gray matter, like wine and bread.
Euphoria utilizes a sprinkle of “unrealism” to color an otherwise bleak and gritty teensploitation. It softens the taste as it goes down. More than a decorative piece, the star atop the evergreen of human suffering is a celebration of the beautiful over the backdrop of the ugly. A true piece of art has the power to beautify, and make of the rotten eternal life.
One escapes reality to dreams, and when the images of dreams become too much, one escapes dreams to a reality emptied of its substance, the Real.
The light pierces through the filth of the lens with a brilliant array, the spectrum of vibrant luminescence carries you to space on a spec of dust, followed by paralyzing internal pain.
Had we not taken the forbidden fruit and learned to know, would we forever lie asleep within ignorance’s bliss.
Bliss, another name for euphoria, and just as sweet, like sonnets by a poet or the saccharine delight of a fresh apple. Stoned apes, walking on the moon in the Garden of Eve.
Whether in tears of joy or sadness, pain or pleasure, which spill into one another like paints on an un-rinsed brush, let us not shutter at that site of the sublime object. Desire, make your home in thee, with the euphoric wisp of a will-o as your guide, begotten not made. Reach out for the sky, and with hands red as rose buds call out to the stars.
(the playlist below was on shuffle while I wrote this piece)
