Saturday, 9 November 2013

g.Trust - Vincent van Gogh

The last part is here:   Book - Far from the Madding Crowd

When one is lonely, it is so easy to cry. Every little opportunity is an opportunity to cry. Facing the four walls and with the slightest sound, the walls will resonate non-stopped. Tonight is that night. So silent, so cold and so very alone. The throat tasted bitter and swollen.

Without fail, the past will just zipped by like an old, old worn movie. Repeating every scene of regret as if I had not been punished enough.

Vincent has accompanied me through some of darkest times in my life. The song (Starry Starry Night) sang by Don McLean on his behalf was and still is so apt for me:
I used not to understand why Vincent could cut his ear as if it was never a part of him. Now I understand. When life is so painful to continue living, even extreme physical pain is no longer as painful as the heart's pain. I was once like that and now I understand even more so. Whenever I think of her, I really don't mind cutting myself up and pay with my blood, if only I could turn the clock back and unblood my hands ...

I don't mind losing any gals in my life. Even if I had invested true feelings in them, I wouldn't even mind the numbing of the soul after that. But, gals are never merciful creatures. They will always seek to destroy the guy's total mind and soul to exact their price.

For this one gal in my life, it was amazing that for all the things I have done for her. She chose to take away my entire soul as payment. I didn't fail her in any aspect. We had afterall 一夜夫妻百日恩。Why the need to hurt some one you have loved so dearly once. Sigh ...

"This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you."

I don't know where is she now. I just hope that she is happy and find peace. So much blood ... Tonight allow me to drink to your health. I pray that the little one will too bless and love you always. After all, you were once a mother to him.

I wrote this essay is not to lay blame on anyone. I just wish that there was never blood in my hands ... I was never born ruthless ...

Be clearly aware of the stars and infinity on high. Then life seems almost enchanted after all.

It is good to love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is well done.

I dream my painting and I paint my dream.

There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.

I don't know anything with certainty, but seeing the stars makes me dream.

I would rather die of passion than of boredom.

If you hear a voice within you say 'you cannot paint', then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.

The fishermen know that the sea is dangerous and the storm terrible, but they have never found these dangers sufficient reason for remaining ashore.

I put my heart and soul into my work, and I have lost my mind in the process.

What am I in the eyes of most people — a nonentity, an eccentric, or an unpleasant person — somebody who has no position in society and will never have; in short, the lowest of the low. All right, then — even if that were absolutely true, then I should one day like to show by my work what such an eccentric, such a nobody, has in his heart. That is my ambition, based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Though I am often in the depths of misery, there is still calmness, pure harmony and music inside me. I see paintings or drawings in the poorest cottages, in the dirtiest corners. And my mind is driven towards these things with an irresistible momentum.

What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?

It is with the reading of books the same as with looking at pictures; one must, without doubt, without hesitations, with assurance, admire what is beautiful.

I try more and more to be myself, caring relatively little whether people approve or disapprove.

Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together.

At present I absolutely want to paint a starry sky. It often seems to me that night is still more richly coloured than the day; having hues of the most intense violets, blues and greens. If only you pay attention to it you will see that certain stars are lemon-yellow, others pink or a green, blue and forget-me-not brilliance. And without my expatiating on this theme it is obvious that putting little white dots on the blue-black is not enough to paint a starry sky.

Now you understand why Vincent is my true friend?

I hope I can still sleep a little ...

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