As I looked a collection of photos of dollify dolls, how simply lovely they are. It's just made me realize.... I've become so jaded, the dolls hold more beauty to me then living beings. I write, because I feel as if I have some great knowledge I can share.
But, I'm unable to relate to people, unable to keep friends.
I wish, I just want to know what it's like to be normal sometimes, now, normal is impossible.
I've become so much more tainted.
In a month I've lost all my friends, and I really, couldn't care. I've just become numb to the processes.
I should be so shocked. Life moves so fast, it all happened so quickly.
I began to think, about the term "Still Life."
The term 'Still Life' Is defined as "A still life is a work of art depicting inanimate subject matter, typically commonplace objects which may be either natural (flowers, game, sea shells and the like) or man-made (drinking glasses, foodstuffs, pipes, books and so on)."
But, that whole concept doesn't make sense to me, it's an oxymoron.
In Target today, there was a book called "My husband in still lives."
But even so, nothing in life is till, even a bowel of fruit isn't still, it was once living, it's rotting as we speak, as we paint.
There's not such thing.
It sickens me how much I over analyze everything,
how inhuman and machine my thoughts have become.
I want a little pretty dolly to talk to, maybe he'll understand....
But, I'm unable to relate to people, unable to keep friends.
I wish, I just want to know what it's like to be normal sometimes, now, normal is impossible.
I've become so much more tainted.
In a month I've lost all my friends, and I really, couldn't care. I've just become numb to the processes.
I should be so shocked. Life moves so fast, it all happened so quickly.
I began to think, about the term "Still Life."
The term 'Still Life' Is defined as "A still life is a work of art depicting inanimate subject matter, typically commonplace objects which may be either natural (flowers, game, sea shells and the like) or man-made (drinking glasses, foodstuffs, pipes, books and so on)."
But, that whole concept doesn't make sense to me, it's an oxymoron.
In Target today, there was a book called "My husband in still lives."
But even so, nothing in life is till, even a bowel of fruit isn't still, it was once living, it's rotting as we speak, as we paint.
There's not such thing.
It sickens me how much I over analyze everything,
how inhuman and machine my thoughts have become.
I want a little pretty dolly to talk to, maybe he'll understand....
