Ask a woman if there’s a point to receiving flowers. They’re just plants. . . but they will wither and die, and their beauty is temporary. That’s what makes them a unique gift, just being basically attractive weeds, after all.

Here is a picture. . . might have been a picture of a bottle on a fence, or a box of cereal. But the human that created this invested a lifetime of life’s experiences in the creation of an abstraction that has different meaning to all. . . to some, it’s “this”, to others, “that.”
It irks me, because it is red, my least favorite color, the color of the rage that wants me gone. It makes me see that. It explains just some of the madness and won’t let me forget that I am chained to myself, that we are all chained to ourselves, desperately seeking release.

And that, Letmyheartsing my good man, is the
only point there is. For some, a connection to the soul is the written or spoken word. For some, it is the beauty of nature. Others find connection in humanity, still others in pistachio ice cream with the evening news broadcast in the background, but only while wearing purple boxer shorts, and for others, the point of this lies only in the simple act of gazing upon it and asking “What the hell is that?”, and waiting for an answer from deep within, which is where the artist wishes to speak to us from.

What does it make you feel/think? 🙂