"I think there aren’t answers only questions…"
Damien Hirst placed it just as the way I like approaching art. How art says one thing and denies itself, the sort of in-between that overwhelms the entire thought-process.
I’ve always been afraid of turning into the sort of nightmare I would become in the line of art. Not literally the self (somewhat), but the trains running across that box with the flow of nerves and electrons. But I can’t let that overtake my being in life, it has to go back to certain basis of compulsion (in a good way).
she was dressed pretty for each day
with her favourite color hairband
given a silver bracelet and gold ring
looked upon and thought what a beautiful child
she seem brighter than sun shinning through the sky
send love to your mother and dad
later she was sent off
but by her side, there, a telephone
it’s always ringing
but she doesn’t always answer it
One day she saw a note, like it spoke in silence
I am always, with you.