I knew my homeland, I don’t


 

Five minute work of a condensed vision of several Bruckner symphonic themes. Very compressed so hopefully I was able to transfer the sense fo being home but this just dost not feel like my Georgia anymore, I never know which dialect of thinking I enccounter until they are angry, I’m confused and feel like the same thing is being said over and over, but undersanding on the level of fiendship itself is lost in the attempt to translate even the simplst forms of communication.The subject and ohject are the same, but meaning becomes interchangeable between sign and signified, when put to the test of ordinary language, lingistict, and most of all, intention. I am lost in the sanctuary that once gave me such assurance of faith and belief. It’s people. It always comes down to my forever inability to for primary forms of speech. So, I applied the same to Bruckner in shrinking it all down to one compressed two movement statement. It is poety.

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proletaria

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the poet's billow

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MY TROUBLED MIND

confessions are self-serving

proletaria

politics philosophy phenomena

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"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain..." 1 Cor. 15:10

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𝓡. 𝓐. 𝓓𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓵𝓪𝓼

𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚐! 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛!

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RhYmOpeDia

Immature poet imitate...but the mature one steal from the depth of the heart

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IN MEMORY EVERYTHING SEEMS TO HAPPEN TO MUSIC -Tennessee Williams

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𝙳𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 𝚋𝚒𝚐! 𝙻𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛!

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IN MEMORY EVERYTHING SEEMS TO HAPPEN TO MUSIC -Tennessee Williams

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