It’s Not the Last Dance

I don’t know what it is, but this time, this time — 2:30 am central, 3:30 NYC, 12:30 am LA, morning in Paris and Berlin, not yet night in Tokyo… This is the time where dreams are made, broken or hatched. When the talents of tomorrow paint their mosaics upon crowds of gallery owners, agents, billionaire potential patrons, and an undulating sea of beautiful people seeking only each other, a hedonism bound not by youth nor address nor drivers, but merely by the allure of a glimmering and perhaps fanciful future. 

This is where movies are made, studios are booked, galleries filled, but far more importantly, where dreams and made and used and wasted, the former to create blockbusters forgotten within the year, the latter to wither into bitter resignation or to bloom into works of real art, bound by nothing but the singlely-minded dream of pure freedom to create, to probe, to explore this filthy and beautiful mess that is humanity. Once you breathe that in, you are not the same person. 

~ by Benji on March 30, 2014.

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