There is a place. The best, the greatest, the most intimate place on Earth. Or even in the Universe. Do you know where it could be? Everyone has one. And all places are just the same, and just different. It’s the place where we refuge in case of. It could be as a real place as well as a spiritual one. Maybe this place is between pages 158 and 159. Or between two notes of a symphony. It physical or psychical instance could be various, but the main characteristics remain the same: it protects us, we got some refill in it. Is the place, where you find yourself, where you become yourself and one again. Is the place, where everything that surrounds you disappear. You know that place, don’t you? It takes care of you, it spoils you, keeps you warm in cold and refreshes you in heat.
But what if this places is not the only one thing that is only yours? What if that all problems, discomforts, people, places a.s.o. what you try to heal inhere are only your grey matter’s product? What if beyond this place nothing exists? Just you and your brain. Or your soul. Solipsism.
There is a place where you find yourself. But is there a place?
Or only your grey matter plays a kinky game with you?
Composition. Is it really exists? Ten rules of, 5 rules of, golden section et cetera… Yeah, I’m sick of it: pleasant to your eyes, to your soul, blah-blah-blah…
This is like saying: this is not a home, this is only an apartment. Who says? Who are you to judge my home? On what basis you judge my apartment being not a home? ‘Cause you would not live in it? Or you can not imagine yourself living in it? Picture this again: stay around a bit, know me, feed the fishes, sprinkle the flowers, wash the dishes. Feed yourself, but not necessarily with food. Maybe with something spiritual. A book, maybe. Stay. Maybe you didn’t stay enough. Maybe this is the place where you will be the most beloved person in this world. And maybe is not yours, but definitely mine. And I feel cozy with it. Nay, I love it. To live it. In it. So what’s your problem?
Compose your image. Shoot your picture. Nevermind the composition. Feel the spirit swelling in you. Show this to the world. Shout it out loud. This is my picture. This is my soul.
Have you ever thought how it would be a dementia? Could we judge it? If yes: how? And ‘judgment’ would be a proper term to describe the state of dementia? Or dementia is another dimension of human existence, and in common, everyday terms we can not talk about it? Wikipedia says: Dementia (taken from Latin, originally meaning “madness”, from de- “without” + ment, the root of mens “mind”) is a serious loss of global cognitive ability in a previously unimpaired person. It says nothing about perception. Whether dementia affects the perception, too, or just the cognition ceases to exist? Or the cognition persists, perception too, but their connection carry us in other dimensions? What if dementia is a step beyond average human existence and a step towards the ultimate truth? Anyhow: talking, feeling, experiencing the pure perception we have to undress our cognitive self. Get blurred, and step beyond the mind’s game: feel lost in your eyes.
Got frightened, that maybe dementia is not so bad, as we think?
This is against.
Against shiny, colourful, sharpy, messageful, trendy pics.
Against war brutalities.
Agianst reality. Against poetry. Aganst romantism, realism, modernism, post- or neomodern.
Against fiction or documentary.
Against maltreted kids. And cancer, health, clarity, blurity.
Against whatever you would like to see, would like to share. Or you would like to like.