The lands are shifting and the hills are screaming, 23, Storbritannien…Senast sedd: torsdag kväll

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Om mig

"Fuck compose, Fuck melody, Dedicated to no one, Thanks to no one, ART IS OVER!"

"Once the Buddha smiled; and by the wondrous radiance of that smile were countless worlds illuminated. But there came a Voice, saying: "It is not real! It cannot last!" And the light passed."

Explosions will continually shake the earth
The sun will not be seen and it will always be night
The sea will be poisoned
The lakes and rivers will vanish
The rotting bodies of men and animals will stink in the dark wind
The last few survivors will be overtaken by new and hideous diseases
And the space platforms will be destroyed by attrition
The petering out of supplies
The natural effect of general decay
And there will be the most beautiful silence never heard
Born out of that.
The sun still hidden there
Awaiting the next chapter.


i make sounds:




Our works in stone, in paint, in print are spared, some of them for a few decades, or a millennium or two, but everything must finally fall in war or wear away into the ultimate and universal ash. The triumphs and the frauds, the treasures and the fakes. A fact of life. We’re going to die. “Be of good heart,” cry the dead artists out of the living past. Our songs will all be silenced – but what of it? Go on singing. Maybe a man’s name doesn’t matter all that much.

He wanders along the busy road ungreeted. Why is the sky so calm and the world so bright? Even in the tempest he was not so lonely as this.

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