Magritte’s Le Fils de l’homme

Something’s amiss. And I’m not entirely sure what it is. Things seem to be moving forward bit by bit, and that’s not altogether a bad thing. There’s a whole world out there and it is a grievous sin not to see it. But I can’t seem to get the gnawing feeling that something is still amiss, and it kills me that

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Dali’s La Persistencia de la Memoria

A few months ago, I ventured on a path to rid of all the unneeded necessities I surround myself with. My first victim: my room. I managed to box up old childhood memories and a many more that
are only of use when reminiscing. I was determined to lock everything away fearing those that I kept so precious were the very ones keeping me from moving forward. And along with those treasured moments, I wanted to rid myself of all the bitterness as well. My theory was, if perhaps I managed to clear the spaces that physically surround me, the self-imposed shackles that I had chained myself in would magically disappear as well. In theory, or at least in my head, that made sense. Theory tested, theory unsuccessful.

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