Always longing for the afterglow… having received God’s creative kiss…. artists always wake up in springtime…. very little can compare with this….

Van Gogh opened his eyes in heaven… bloody ear in the palm of his hand… mourning that he had taken his life… he thinks the world could never understand….

His brush seemed to fall so heavily…. a thousand colors to blend and behold… his last earthly episode ended in a cornfield meltdown.. a tormented genius stroking for gold….

Like Hemingway…. he just couldn’t take anymore… the desperate Crossing of Tennyson’s bar….

All of us stand lonely and longing….

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