Forgive me for being too weak, I can only cover up my anxiety by resisting the secular, and can only relieve the restlessness in my heart with a paintbrush; I am eager to break through, and I innovate everything, but I can only break through you. In your love, I will degenerate into a morally corrupt and obscure shadow, spurned by mortals in this world. Isn't this a great irony?
You call me "Dalí with an olive voice", I sink in your fiery eyes and wonderful poems, I fall from heaven to earth, and I am about to fall from earth to hell; I am afraid, afraid that I will take you to me From now on, the poison of poison will never be over again, because of you, you are the poison and the only antidote.
I flee, and go to Paris. Art is the safe salvation. Your love, heaven and sea will only drown me; I start to love women, fame, money, savior, and dictatorship, because freedom and truth only It will make me miss you more and more painful; I begin to embrace and practice everything you oppose, hungry for food, mixed with sweet and salty.
My beard is my mask, it's exaggerated and ridiculous, just what I want. When these two mustaches became my symbol, I became a symbol. The symbol has no personality and no breathing. No one would think that what is hidden under this mask is actually a weak and pale child. So, I cruised in the warm and safe art world. Only here can I control everything, instead of being the only one who is loyal to you in your world. I am the eye, and you are indeed a sharp blade, but my destiny has no choice but to be shattered.
Only later, you were gone long ago, and there was no bones left. When you stood by my easel and said, "We will eventually return to the dust... We will eventually become our own echoes, become ghosts..."
I believe in the eternity of art, and you only believe in the emptiness of life, so I chose to escape. You choose to burn, so persistent and brave to burn, even if you end up in ashes, just not to continue to be mediocre in the world of ghosts.
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like Lorca’s poems, but unfortunately I don’t understand Spanish and I can’t appreciate the rhythm and rhythm. I can only appreciate the images in his poems, which are not like Dali’s. The paintings are so novel and shocking, but on the contrary they are classical and fresh. People are always attracted to completely different people, always like this, always like this.
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