Quote by Mr. W.

“A hurricane raged through my chest. She understood. Not only the painting. The painting didn't matter. She perceived my creation. And even though that realization might never be painted in words and framed with an interpretation, I felt that her premonition understood me. Meaninglessness as the main meaning. Nonbeing as the most powerful form of being, present in its absence as a simultaneous negation and confirmation of everything that exists. A moment as the only sure reality that cannot be grasped because the last heartbeat is already a second-old memory. The future is a fantasy because nothing has to happen, even though it can. The past is a memory that we must re-invent in the same form so we don't forget it. Thus, what does really exist except nonexistence? And what is a man but a being crucified by the wedges of the past and the future in the point of the elusive present? Maybe he is a fantasy, just like the rest of the existence to which he belongs. An unfinished painting that someone is painting forever. However, I didn't intend to tell her that because it would be too freaky for our first conversation. I wanted to show at least a semblance of normality for the moment.”

Quote by Mr. W.