when we first met he thought i was crazy, and so did all of his friends. he told me he wanted to call me something that no one else has evver thought to call me, he told me it had to capture my essence and presence. it should be unusual, it should be unique… he called me abstract.
irritating reminders of english and papers and homework. things that I’d prefer not to think about. a word that reminds me of pompous hipsters. not a word i particularly like, actually. i prefer the concrete and real.
I tilted my head sideways as I observed the painting on the wall. A small plaque underneath it read “Kandinsky”. It wasa strange piece full of undistinct shapes and colours that blended together. I liked it though. It was… abstract.
they say “oh I love it!!…..what is it?”
I say “have your own imagination, don’t use mine. don’t you have ideas of your own?”
and then when they look at me dumbfounded, i say, “it’s abstract….it’s nothing.”
“oh that makes more sense!”
of course it’s something, you just have to be willing to really look at it, but they don’t have the patience or the brains for that.
Everything is very odd and out there
Art, tattoos, and everything of that nature
Anything is okay
Paint slapped onto a canvas
Very contemporary and mind boggling
I don’t want to come down. Out here, I’m free. I can dream, explore, experiment. No rules, no limits, no consequences. The concrete is a prison. And I want to be free.
Abstract or concrete. Perception makes almost anything abstract. How does one describe the sound quality of a new instrument? Is that concrete or abstract? Certainly difficult to communicate.
thinking abstractly I would say that I am bound by the laws of conformity, I struggle to break free of the bound creativity established in school where I was taught to think and taught to colour between the lines. To be fully appreciative of this talent one has to use both left and right brains
Remote and distant, I was watching them dance; and had to -for the voices inside would not let me do otherwise. I had to stare as my body would grow numb while my mind sand its song of abandonment and broken childhood. And I couldn’t see how to outgrow this.
The birds in the sky form arrows around the reddened clouds, and they squiggle and change direction in the afternoon light. His shirt is the color of dark chocolate as it stains the sky with unnecessary color. He swells up like a ballon as the birds change to point towards the east yet again, and his cheeks billow out, like a canopy around him.
something not normal… Picasso was an artist who loved to paint and draw! it is creativeness at its finest, at its core. to see what you could do, and be is an amazing achievement.
Charcoal lined her palms and spread into it’s creases. A black dusk slowly eating away at her hands, he hands that she needed to create her immortality. The world is quiet here, in the solitude of a room that was built by paintings. Not pretty paintings, not clever paintings, but awful paintings. She drew her mind.
I loved her so, with the brick beating in the cavity between my ribs, I loved her. But I am not brave anymore darling, I am broken. They have broken me. I fell in love with her silence, and her touch, and it is these things i believed in even if the world indulged in suspicion that she isn’t all she should be. I loved her, and that was the beginning of my end. She is the darkness, while I am nothing. She is greatness, while I am nothing. She is has become immortal, while I am nothing.
The writer smoked weed out of his hookah as he finished typing up his abstract. It seems he spent his whole advance on a “Galaxy of Drugs” and an assortment of fake Japanese Nikes and French made boots.
I hate abstract art. I never consider it art. I guess you wouldn’t consider me an abstract person. I like rules and tradition and normalcy. Sometimes I have abstract thoughts but when put on the spot I always think inside the box. People look down on that but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, as long as you’re a kind person and treat people the way you’d like to be treated then I don’t think there’s any reason for you to be or feel judged or for someone to dictate how you should behave or live your life.
The thought of you, at all, boggles my mind sometimes.
The incontestable fact that you exist, I can’t process.
It’s as if you were some abstract Jackson Pollock hanging on a museum wall and I am one of those people, the people who just can’t understand it.
You’re my abstract art.
i like abstract art, but i hate abstract wordings in everyday life. they are not art. they are just defenders for people who don’t want to take risks and be responsible. such wordings often drives me crazy.
I love to do photography, however I am not a lover of abstract work. The thought of seeing thing without a boundary or a specific definition, is not something that I can handle well.
A dream within a dream is not so much an abstract thought for someone like me. I get them once in a fortnight, this malignant message from my subconscious, trying to tell me something I don’t want to acknowledge myself though something I know, I know.
Her eyes were the colors of the setting sun. She moved around in places with flagrant disregard to her surroundings, running through streets with swift, light steps and her tinkling laughter piercing the cool, crisp air. But I could never figure her out. She was circles while I was a square. She talked in question marks while I always talked in periods. She was the question I wanted to spend eternity trying to answer.
When you think about it, there are so many things in life that we consider “abstract”. It’s that word we give to things we don’t quite get, or can’t quite summize into words. It’s concrete only in our minds–as an idea, a little spark of connecting neurons. Scientifically, I wonder if abstractions can exist. Philosophy functions based on their existence. Humans distinguish themselves from beasts by claiming emotional capacity. But what are emotions but mere abstractions?
We’ve assigned words to the physical symptoms of “feelings”. With love, your heart is supposed to beat faster–a result of high dopamine levels in your brain. In sadness, one’s face is downturned and ugly, sometimes eliciting salty water to collect and fall from one’s eyes. But I don’t know anyone who would describe an emotion in such a physical, scientific way. It goes deeper, and I believe the abstraction is what gives an emotion power. Funny that we should deem ourselves as the dominant species based on a thing we, ourselves, can’t explain.
I think of you in an abstract way. You might exist, you do, I know it. But I shouldn’t imagine or fathom that you still exist in a space that is parallel to mine. You run a different line, a different time. In a different world, an alternate place, maybe we’d be two as opposed to this fate.
I saw this man with the mustache, drawing figurines in a circular maze, there were red blocks and blue ones, in Amsterdam, the funniest thing, and we layed in the grass while trying to decide on the right jacket to wear, uncomfortable glances from the girls over there, wearing their nice summer uniforms, in the sun, grabbed a hold of my brother, he isn’t sure how to have fun, I am so damn sure in my cocky self, make approaches to prove a point and be right, even If I fall smack on my face, fun anyway, maybe too hard on myself
it is something that you dont see often it is a weird thing to see. it plays with your eyes. it is a great form of art.
So the other day i was wearing this scarf with purple panda bears and chocolate sauce was spilled on it, it was very abstract.
abstract is beautiful art that is often done and hung in art galleryies for ppeople to look at and admire i love abstract what about u ricky?
Abstract ideas are what new inventions are made of. Abstract art is cool too :D (well sometimes).
The differences between very unlike things. A contrast. Like between light and dark. Or the blue meenies and the beatles.
She looked at the abstract shape and wondered what it was. ‘Could it be a alian?’ she thought.
when we first met he thought i was crazy, and so did all of his friends. he told me he wanted to call me something that no one else has evver thought to call me, he told me it had to capture my essence and presence. it should be unusual, it should be unique… he called me abstract.
Abstract people in an abstract world. Abstract boys and abstract girls. I look around and all that I see is an abstract you, an abstract me.
irritating reminders of english and papers and homework. things that I’d prefer not to think about. a word that reminds me of pompous hipsters. not a word i particularly like, actually. i prefer the concrete and real.
I tilted my head sideways as I observed the painting on the wall. A small plaque underneath it read “Kandinsky”. It wasa strange piece full of undistinct shapes and colours that blended together. I liked it though. It was… abstract.
they say “oh I love it!!…..what is it?”
I say “have your own imagination, don’t use mine. don’t you have ideas of your own?”
and then when they look at me dumbfounded, i say, “it’s abstract….it’s nothing.”
“oh that makes more sense!”
of course it’s something, you just have to be willing to really look at it, but they don’t have the patience or the brains for that.
Everything is very odd and out there
Art, tattoos, and everything of that nature
Anything is okay
Paint slapped onto a canvas
Very contemporary and mind boggling
Abstract is not a word i know very well so i wont be writing anything about it today other than the word.
I don’t want to come down. Out here, I’m free. I can dream, explore, experiment. No rules, no limits, no consequences. The concrete is a prison. And I want to be free.
paintings are beautiful
Abstract or concrete. Perception makes almost anything abstract. How does one describe the sound quality of a new instrument? Is that concrete or abstract? Certainly difficult to communicate.
thinking abstractly I would say that I am bound by the laws of conformity, I struggle to break free of the bound creativity established in school where I was taught to think and taught to colour between the lines. To be fully appreciative of this talent one has to use both left and right brains
abstract art rocks ;P
Remote and distant, I was watching them dance; and had to -for the voices inside would not let me do otherwise. I had to stare as my body would grow numb while my mind sand its song of abandonment and broken childhood. And I couldn’t see how to outgrow this.
The birds in the sky form arrows around the reddened clouds, and they squiggle and change direction in the afternoon light. His shirt is the color of dark chocolate as it stains the sky with unnecessary color. He swells up like a ballon as the birds change to point towards the east yet again, and his cheeks billow out, like a canopy around him.
out of context, the girl stared middle distance. Not knowing any names or faces left her at a loss..how to make friends in this new unfamiliar city.
This is an overview of a document, it is a brief document that tells the reader about the thing.
something not normal… Picasso was an artist who loved to paint and draw! it is creativeness at its finest, at its core. to see what you could do, and be is an amazing achievement.
Charcoal lined her palms and spread into it’s creases. A black dusk slowly eating away at her hands, he hands that she needed to create her immortality. The world is quiet here, in the solitude of a room that was built by paintings. Not pretty paintings, not clever paintings, but awful paintings. She drew her mind.
I loved her so, with the brick beating in the cavity between my ribs, I loved her. But I am not brave anymore darling, I am broken. They have broken me. I fell in love with her silence, and her touch, and it is these things i believed in even if the world indulged in suspicion that she isn’t all she should be. I loved her, and that was the beginning of my end. She is the darkness, while I am nothing. She is greatness, while I am nothing. She is has become immortal, while I am nothing.
The writer smoked weed out of his hookah as he finished typing up his abstract. It seems he spent his whole advance on a “Galaxy of Drugs” and an assortment of fake Japanese Nikes and French made boots.
I hate abstract art. I never consider it art. I guess you wouldn’t consider me an abstract person. I like rules and tradition and normalcy. Sometimes I have abstract thoughts but when put on the spot I always think inside the box. People look down on that but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, as long as you’re a kind person and treat people the way you’d like to be treated then I don’t think there’s any reason for you to be or feel judged or for someone to dictate how you should behave or live your life.
The thought of you, at all, boggles my mind sometimes.
The incontestable fact that you exist, I can’t process.
It’s as if you were some abstract Jackson Pollock hanging on a museum wall and I am one of those people, the people who just can’t understand it.
You’re my abstract art.
Abstract thoughts
No concrete form
Yet no less real
i like abstract art, but i hate abstract wordings in everyday life. they are not art. they are just defenders for people who don’t want to take risks and be responsible. such wordings often drives me crazy.
I love to do photography, however I am not a lover of abstract work. The thought of seeing thing without a boundary or a specific definition, is not something that I can handle well.
feelings are abstract. cannot be quantified. cannot be clarified. cannot be justified. when you ask me why i love him. all i know to say is ‘because’.
A dream within a dream is not so much an abstract thought for someone like me. I get them once in a fortnight, this malignant message from my subconscious, trying to tell me something I don’t want to acknowledge myself though something I know, I know.
Her eyes were the colors of the setting sun. She moved around in places with flagrant disregard to her surroundings, running through streets with swift, light steps and her tinkling laughter piercing the cool, crisp air. But I could never figure her out. She was circles while I was a square. She talked in question marks while I always talked in periods. She was the question I wanted to spend eternity trying to answer.
When you think about it, there are so many things in life that we consider “abstract”. It’s that word we give to things we don’t quite get, or can’t quite summize into words. It’s concrete only in our minds–as an idea, a little spark of connecting neurons. Scientifically, I wonder if abstractions can exist. Philosophy functions based on their existence. Humans distinguish themselves from beasts by claiming emotional capacity. But what are emotions but mere abstractions?
We’ve assigned words to the physical symptoms of “feelings”. With love, your heart is supposed to beat faster–a result of high dopamine levels in your brain. In sadness, one’s face is downturned and ugly, sometimes eliciting salty water to collect and fall from one’s eyes. But I don’t know anyone who would describe an emotion in such a physical, scientific way. It goes deeper, and I believe the abstraction is what gives an emotion power. Funny that we should deem ourselves as the dominant species based on a thing we, ourselves, can’t explain.
Today everything feels like an illusion, as in fact it is.
I think of you in an abstract way. You might exist, you do, I know it. But I shouldn’t imagine or fathom that you still exist in a space that is parallel to mine. You run a different line, a different time. In a different world, an alternate place, maybe we’d be two as opposed to this fate.
i.a.m.a.b.s.t.r.a.c.t
I saw this man with the mustache, drawing figurines in a circular maze, there were red blocks and blue ones, in Amsterdam, the funniest thing, and we layed in the grass while trying to decide on the right jacket to wear, uncomfortable glances from the girls over there, wearing their nice summer uniforms, in the sun, grabbed a hold of my brother, he isn’t sure how to have fun, I am so damn sure in my cocky self, make approaches to prove a point and be right, even If I fall smack on my face, fun anyway, maybe too hard on myself
Human creation. Absurd fragmentation Of reality.
coincidence manifesto, the one, limitdless, out of understanding, simple and classic. people call it modern. others do not think its art at all.