<Mountainous Heathen!>

/THE STAR IS SHOT AND MAN FORGOT/

i was going to comment on sina's blog about The Sun being sad and depressing, but i had too much to babble on about sadness, so i thought, hey, post. and really, i was going to post about sadness today anyway, so good timing sina.

true that sy safronsky makes me cry. makes me choke up at the very least. true that from cover to cover, the magazine is filled with sad times. oddities and idiosycracies of personal lives at best.

but don't you see the beauty in it? it's so heartfelt. so personal. so sincere. so rare. if i could have that from everything or everyone, i'd take sadness over happiness any day. it's a low cost to pay really. and they write so well, it's worth it.

van gogh never painted noodle salad. he painted the corn field that represented his own suicide. and i won't even go into t.s. eliot, orwell or hemingway. oh, and cornell, best art/architecture program in the country: highest suicide rate in the country. when you're happy, you don't sit and write in your journal how happy you are, you get outside, paint the town with your boys. no art came out of being content. it comes out of aggitated souls, tortured minds. what art did come out of the 50's, the epitome of seeming contentment, was poking fun at the era bitterly.

i think it's a stigma about this culture. looks very negatively at sadness. i bet if you read persian poetry, it doesn't sound sad, though if you translate it, it sounds ass sad. in persian, it seems eternal. it sounds like music. rachmaninof isn't sad, he's romantic. heartfelt.

suffice it to say that normal people don't hurry and paint a masterpiece when they're mourning. normal people take to drinking and sulk. writers take to both. so lucky for them to be able to create something out of that black abyss and lucky for us if we get something out of it.

cheers, sy.

mountainous heathen!
holly girl jennyman cyrus boyk sina boy robert reich honey jaan Prufrock If Afraid So Today's poem		~ Monday, October 11, 2004 /THE STAR IS SHOT AND MAN FORGOT/ i was going to comment on sina's blog about The Sun being sad and depressing, but i had too much to babble on about sadness, so i thought, hey, post. and really, i was going to post about sadness today anyway, so good timing sina. true that sy safronsky makes me cry. makes me choke up at the very least. true that from cover to cover, the magazine is filled with sad times. oddities and idiosycracies of personal lives at best. but don't you see the beauty in it? it's so heartfelt. so personal. so sincere. so rare. if i could have that from everything or everyone, i'd take sadness over happiness any day. it's a low cost to pay really. and they write so well, it's worth it. van gogh never painted noodle salad. he painted the corn field that represented his own suicide. and i won't even go into t.s. eliot, orwell or hemingway. oh, and cornell, best art/architecture program in the country: highest suicide rate in the country. when you're happy, you don't sit and write in your journal how happy you are, you get outside, paint the town with your boys. no art came out of being content. it comes out of aggitated souls, tortured minds. what art did come out of the 50's, the epitome of seeming contentment, was poking fun at the era bitterly. i think it's a stigma about this culture. looks very negatively at sadness. i bet if you read persian poetry, it doesn't sound sad, though if you translate it, it sounds ass sad. in persian, it seems eternal. it sounds like music. rachmaninof isn't sad, he's romantic. heartfelt. suffice it to say that normal people don't hurry and paint a masterpiece when they're mourning. normal people take to drinking and sulk. writers take to both. so lucky for them to be able to create something out of that black abyss and lucky for us if we get something out of it. cheers, sy. posted by ...me at 9:23 AM