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Van Gogh's letter to his brother before he committed suicide
Where does life go? What make it our mind? He loses things to her joy and leads us towards depression
I rotting boredom without my feathers and my colors, I re-created things again .. All things become cold and pale after time sets .. What do I do? I want to create new lines and colors, other than those that stumble on every day
All the old colors have a sad glitter in my heart. Is it so in nature or are my eyes sick? Here I am redrawn as the lighter fire in them
At the heart of the tragedy are lines of delight that I want my colors to show, in the crows and wheat spikes with their twisted necks. Even the "peasant shoes", which nominate misery there is joy what I want to capture by color and movement ... for ugly things artistic privacy may not find in the beautiful things and the artist's eye do not mistake it
Today I painted my personal picture. Every morning, when I look in the mirror I say to myself You refined face, Vincent ugly face, why not renewed
I spit in the mirror and get out, Today, I reshaped my face, not as nature wanted it, but as I wanted it to be:
Lupus eyes without resolution. A green face and a beard like the tongues of fire. The ear in the painting was broken and I didn't need it. I grabbed the feather, I mean the razor and I removed it .. It seems that it confused me, between my head outside the board and inside ... Well what will I do with that flesh mass
I sent it to the woman who did not know my value and I thought I love her .. It's okay to meet the appendages with each other .. Here's my ears, talkative woman, talk to her ... Now I can hear and see my fingers. Even my sixth finger, the "feather", can do more: she dances, bites and caresses the skin of the painting ... Sit meditating The world has grown old and wrinkled and the face of the painting is relaxing more ... Oh my God, what can I do before the night falls over the tower of the Spirit? Brush. Colors. And ... quickly correct it: straight and short strokes. Sharp and graceful .. Clear and primitive colors. Yellow blue red .. I want to bring things back to spontaneity as if the world had just come out of its first cosmic egg.
I still remember It was dusk or post-dusk and before dawn. Lilac color wets the line of sight ... ah of jerk Lilac. When we go out to the garden to steal cranberry. I was sitting in the middle of the tree watching a green and yellow worm, while the more naughty Ursula jumped cheerfully between the branches and suddenly it was unbalanced and tumbled. My chest trembled before it related to my necks. I joined her while she was breathing like a paranoid fawn ... and when she was distracted from me, a grain of blueberry had left her nectar on the whiteness of my shirt .. From that day, when I was twelve, I felt her nectar on the whiteness of my shirt. I feel happiness would overwhelm me if a lilac hole had opened up in my chest for the whiteness to flow.
The idea urges me a lot, can I not? Dormant in sunflower, yellow color oh I am. I suck from the beam of this joyful planet. I stare and stare in the eye of the sun where the spirit of the universe burns me.
Two things move my soul: staring at the sun, and in death .. I want to travel in the stars and this wretched my body hinders me! When will we, the sons of the earth, carry our wipes?
But where to
To dream of course.
Yesterday I painted mud-colored flowers after I planted myself in the dust. The green and yellow spikes were growing on my head and the memory crows were flying without air. Wheat and crows. Crows and wheat ... Crows peck in my brain. Cormorant ... Cormorant .. Everything is a dream. Dreams, and the feather of the earth deceive us all the time .. Soon I will restore the Secretariat of the dust, and fired the bird from my chest towards the country of the sun .. Ah, swallow I'll open the cage to you with this gun:
Scarlet dripping. Blood or fire
Glion ignites Black and white color life in gray. Gray has endless possibilities: gray red, gray blue, gray green. Tobacco is burning and life is leaking. Ash has a bitter taste that we usually know, and then addicted, just like life: the older we become, the more attached to it ... for that I leave it at the height of flare up, but why ?! It's a failure again. The misery will never end
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i Know this Story from long time & it's has a lot of Lessons of life , i think it's one of the most story wich can toch your heart & open your eyes well to know that's life not only play & fun , it's full of saricface , death , blood , sadness ?
If you read this comment bellow i think you should better try to think about your self , your future , your live .....
#PEACE