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chaotically The days passed one after another with their flats and their inconsistencies. The sun rays were extinguished one by one. The wind began to unfold and rocked anxiously on the skins of thousands of pedestrians in this city. Only silence at sunset and fading fragments of time behind the melancholy that autumn brings. The wind
throwing leaves face the despair of the season and his silence over their faces covered and thoughtful. And as penetrating gaze for a dark tunnel, I found the painting of Van Gogh's heart beat me to pieces. My encounter with color, light and wind together in unison, was a domestic green that made me tremble; met my feeling constrained. As the scrutiny of your domain, approaching stealthily waiting before her image. The feeling was unexplainable. Van Gogh and the Colors of the Night one of the most beautiful shows I've seen in The Museum of Mode rn Art (MOMA). I could hear the roar of the wind to escape through the frame to my ears, the light direct me to the face and imagine the stars from his eyes. Felt to be on that night piercing through the canvas, trapped in the "Starry Night" by Van Gogh. The power of the painting was overwhelming, a lot of us wanted to see, touch, smell and feel the warmth indomitable strength. That afternoon saw many classical paintings. But none like this one picture that was there own. Was a week ago I felt the color of images that I saved in my imagination and pushed me to write some ideas about there.

However, week was stark and strange in many ways. I regained my sanity for hours, which led me to reflect on different situations. I resumed reading an old book The Art of Loving by Eric Fromm and threatened to reread it and found myself questioning variety of questions about hate, love and understanding. What relationship could exist between a great painting and the most banal human feelings? Definitely all. I remembered that I felt joy, sadness and loneliness, looking at her.

Today I went to turn and meet the streets and I thought that love is an art as it is an art to live. And how all art need to know and to abstract it as such. I thought Fromm interesting as between the visions of love through the mistakes that you understand about what is to feel love, through theories. And it presents initially as three common misconceptions about what you think is love, the first attraction as a result, interest in something specific to one side, second those who are guided by the appearance and others say about your choice as if elected a commodity (the object desirable from a social point), and the third error (as Fromm) that lies in the confusion between the initial experience of falling and the situation of staying in love. Call the miracle with an onset of sexual attraction and consummation. However, the time to know people think it is durable but only sameness and safety. But not love. Exhaust only be looking for company in his solitude.

Leaving caustic Fromm and his theories about love. I read an interesting announcement on Hudson Street tavern called White Horse, where he meditated, got drunk and wrote poets such as Ginsberg and Kerouac. Irreverent poets belonged to the generation Beatnek. Men Without sanity as Van Gogh in another time spoke of the despair, the order, destruction and love. By then, ordinary beings they cried, laughed and loved to madness and despair. Like now, let us mere mortals something written just for you to read and now you're doing.