I was always fascinated by people who are considered completely normal, because I find them the weirdest of all.
It’s dangerous. The poet, the weaver of fairy tales and the carpenter of fools. Constructing misdirection under the guise of creativity, calling it art. One would do well to take heed of what one feels and deflect what one is told. No one can tell you what’s good, and what’s bad. Banish the elitist ideals that accompany oil and film alike, know that accessibility is key for fools, nobles, and respect.
I’ve come to believe that remembering someone is not the highest compliment, it is missing them.