Onirem2000
01-10-2013, 02:27 AM
The Final Fantasy
If the dead find their ways to heaven they realize finally that after all that that they have died. I would like to convey a certain man Vincent Van Gogh, the Artist’s artist. He may have died because he thought he was so so or tacky. This reckoning, or chilling, indeed the cooling of the destitute man’s self’ portrait sought a wake or enlivening which brought about what he wanted to be an end: in accounting for his losses, especially the losses of his capabilities, he reckoned, ‘Am I destined for misfortune.’ He may have foresaw his sensibilities dwindling, but meanwhile in the utmost, the man who reached the glory of Titian found himself accounting for Cherubs like a dervish racing through the heaven’s visions of colors and sensations — He became encompassed in fantasy. What is to be said of this man? I say of this hero he could be a martyr because he lost his soul to the frivolity of the time and because of this he had already found his way into death, dying by the disregard of a craft made mad or an art made to be heathen and had acted as if he were begotten to be the one who committed suicide. This man lied so endearingly that he continued to recreate himself in the sense that a day had passed or a night had ended. But Vincent Van Gogh never seized to be Vincent Van Gogh even when he came to his end.
If the dead find their ways to heaven they realize finally that after all that that they have died. I would like to convey a certain man Vincent Van Gogh, the Artist’s artist. He may have died because he thought he was so so or tacky. This reckoning, or chilling, indeed the cooling of the destitute man’s self’ portrait sought a wake or enlivening which brought about what he wanted to be an end: in accounting for his losses, especially the losses of his capabilities, he reckoned, ‘Am I destined for misfortune.’ He may have foresaw his sensibilities dwindling, but meanwhile in the utmost, the man who reached the glory of Titian found himself accounting for Cherubs like a dervish racing through the heaven’s visions of colors and sensations — He became encompassed in fantasy. What is to be said of this man? I say of this hero he could be a martyr because he lost his soul to the frivolity of the time and because of this he had already found his way into death, dying by the disregard of a craft made mad or an art made to be heathen and had acted as if he were begotten to be the one who committed suicide. This man lied so endearingly that he continued to recreate himself in the sense that a day had passed or a night had ended. But Vincent Van Gogh never seized to be Vincent Van Gogh even when he came to his end.