I just saw the video here:
I am not an artist. Anything but. My general opinion was that my “art” can make a good torture weapon. And while watching the above video, came up with this:
Not great, but definitely better than anything I’ve tried before. Great, in my opinion, for a first attempt of five minutes in all.
The message towards the end struck a chord. What else am I too afraid to try?
Relevant tweet I came across this morning:
When reading comments from AskReddit post What “Truth” are people not ready to face?, I found this poem.
Whatever space or place you be –
Whatever life you’ve known –
What’s true for you is not for me:
To each, my friend, their own.
No matter wisdom, age, or youth,
Or how you choose to test –
You’ll never really find the truth.
Except that mine’s the best. [ source ]
Although we each have thoughts and views,
On matters known by all;
Your battered claims do seem to lose,
And clatter as they fall.
Your mind and method’s all askew,
We’ve known this all along.
I’d love to think akin to you,
But then we’d both be wrong. [ source ]
Perhaps it’s best to call a truce
In times so tense and taut,
When words fly forth, all fast and loose,
But don’t say what they “ought.”
Thoughts will leap and jump and freeze,
And catch in open air.
Although some speak and aim to please –
Most want their views laid bare. [ source ]
You’re free to wave your flag of white,
And bend to what I’ve said.
Just end your doubt and say I’m right,
And lend me your sweet head.
If I would wound I’d use a knife,
For words, have no complaint.
Don’t seek the silent end to strife:
The weak man wants restraint. [ source ]
I sense, my friend, you’ve seen it fit
To skirt around the topic.
Bellig’rent chomping at the bit
Has made your speech myopic.
Indeed, our words can breed disdain
And serve as life’s cruel sword.
But those same phrases, when contained,
Can be a peace accord. [ source ]
But men of you and I, alike,
Shant use their sword for peace.
War and fighting, talent not take,
Throw one stone, I must, at least.
Words, they are but fickle things
With power, only true.
To tatter every nation’s flag,
Harmony, words do eschew. [ source ]
He speaks of flags, you speak of chomps;
Is this the fruit of labors lost?
For all your circumstance and pomp,
You’ve merely served to self accost.
I won’t buy in: you’re not so trite
As that which you pretend to be,
And nor is she. (Or is it he?)
Regardless, I am right. [ source ]