I May Not Have Gone Where I Intended To Go, But I Think I Have Ended Up Where I Needed To Be.

Daria - Do you want to come in?

Tom - No! There are girls in there rubbing stuff on each other's cheeks and making animal noises. I got kind of scared.

Daria - That's just the opening rites of the Blushathon. At least you got out before the rhythmic chanting.

Tom - Oh, yeah, I think I saw that on the Discovery Channel. Why don't you get in the car?

Source: “Dye! Dye! My Darling” episode 13, Season 4, Daria, 2000. 

Yangshuo, Guangxi, China, 2016. 

Source: Mystic Cheesecake Balloon. 

“Cassius Clay, between training sets talking to some folks at the Main Street Gym preparing for his bout against Archie Moore”, Stanley Weston, Los Angeles, USA, 1962.

Killarney National Park, Ireland, 2017.

Source: Mystic Cheesecake Balloon. 

When my brain is burnt by work...

Me: Sorry I didn’t have more time to write.

Also me: *spend 30 minutes training Siri to understand how I pronounce “Gus Van Sant”*

If you like you can read [this book], and a lot of other science fiction, as a thought experiment. Let's say (says Mary Shelley) that a young doctor creates a human being in his laboratory; let's say (says Philip K. Dick) that the Allies lost the Second World War; let's say this or that is such and so, and see what happens... In a story so conceived, the moral complexity proper to modern novel need not be sacrificed, nor is there any built-in dead end; thought and intuition can move freely within bounds set only by the terms of the experiment, which may be very large indeed.  The purpose of a thought experiment, as the term was used by the [physicists], is not to predict the future [...] but to describe reality, the present  world.  Science fiction is not predictive; it is descriptive. Predictions are uttered by prophets (free of charge); by clairvoyants (who usually charge a fee and are therefore more honored in their day than prophets); and by futurologists (salaried). Prediction is the business of prophets, clairvoyants, and futurologists. It is not the business of novelists. A novelist's business is lying. The weather bureau will tell you what next Tuesday will be like, and the Rand Corporation will tell you what the twenty-first century will be like. I don't recommend that you turn to the writers of fiction for such information. It's none of their business. All they're trying to do is tell you what they're like, and what you're like - what's going on- what the weather is now, today, this moment, the rain, the sunlight, look! Open your eyes; listen, listen. That is what the novelists say. But they don't tell you what you will see and hear. All they can tell you is what they have seen and heard, in their time in this world, a third of it spent in sleep and dreaming, another third of it spent in telling lies. [...]  They may use all kind of facts to support their tissue of lies.They may describe the Marshalsea Prison, which was a real place, or the battle of Borodino, which was really fought, or the process of cloning, which really takes place in laboratories, or the deterioration of a personality, which is described in real textbooks of psychology; and so on. This weight of verifiable place-event-phenomenon-behavior makes the reader forget that he is reading a pure invention, a history that never took place anywhere but in that unlocalisable region, the author's mind. In fact, while we read a novel, we are insane- bonkers. We believe in the existence of people who aren't there, we hear their voice, we watch the battle of Borodino with them, we may even become Napoleon. Sanity returns (in most cases) when the book is closed. [...]  In reading a novel, any novel, we have to know perfectly well that the whole thing is nonsense, and then, while reading, believe every word of it. Finally, when we're done with it, we may find - if it's a good novel- that we're a bit different from what we were before we read it, that we have been changed a little, as if by having met a new face, crossed a street we never crossed before. But it's very hard t say just what we learned, how we were changed.  The artist deals with what cannot be said in word.

Ursula Le Guin, Introduction,The Left Hand of Darkness, 1976. 

André Masson, plafond de l’Odéon- théâtre de l’Europe, Paris, 1965. 

Source: Mystic Cheesecake Balloon.

Roberto Monténégro, Ville dans la Brume, 1911, huile sur toile, musée régional de Guadalajara, Guadalajara. 

Source: “Mexique (1900–1950)”, du 5 Octobre 2016 au 23 Janvier 2017, Galeries nationales du Grand Palais, Paris. 

Aux alentours de Chambéry, France, 2015.

Source: Mystic Cheesecake Balloon.