Song and video about the unbearable beauty of lines that inventory vanishing without mercy—wet leaves fleeing,
children’s voices thinning into twilight, death carried inside since childhood. Generated melody in Suno, visuals in Midjourney, edited until the ache went quiet. An enactment of impermanence sung by disembodied innocence: cry and sing, just live, while the clouds carry love away overhead.
Truthful, blunt, naive, playful, he is an eternal outcast doomed to travel from town to town, from century to century attracting hopeless idealists and free souls. My conversation with Grok and recent visualization revealed a hidden message he had for me after all these years. And the message made me cry…
A recurring motif in an artist’s work is the psyche knocking—sometimes pounding—on consciousness. It signals an activated archetype or complex demanding integration. Track it, amplify with myths, dialogue: raw terror → confrontation → transformation → fade/disappearance as integrated. The repetition is the healing attempt.
When spirit degenerates into intellect, intellect claims the whole heritage — moods, depths, guiding heights — as if it alone suffices. It dares to possess what it cannot contain, nets the luminous, reduces paradox to data. Barbarism follows: one-sided momentum without polarity.
Humans throw nets at what shines unattainably high — living spirits, uncontained intelligence, mystery that refuses final calculation. The roar of victory is loud when the catch hits ground, but then blank staring: now what? Possession without integration yields only a pale rock in a bag. The world loses its rhythm because some things must orbit free to keep the tides moving.
…In the dream I saw an old car, it was green and looked like the first version of the Russian Zaporozhets or a Western Volkswagen Beetle. It was parked in the middle of nowhere on a pitch black night. There were only two dim street lights that helped to see what was going on. Next to the green car there stood an 18th century guy in a powdered wig wearing a yellow frock coat, white silk necktie and a lace shirt.
I was very worried about the moon in the dream. And when I woke up I was still worried. I also had a vague feeling that the story in the dream was not new. Something like that already happened somewhere and maybe not once.