Is This Art?

I would, of course

Love to say

I understand Art

I'd like to say somethign clever

It is the musings of one's mind 

But I can't

I dont really know

And yet, I find myself thinking

Art?

Is this it?

Squares?

T shapes?

Different shades of the same color?

Art, at some point

Went from being a recreation

Something that took talent

But admittedly no imagination

To this...

You could say anythings art

A chair, with a blanket thrown over it

So what is art now?

The talent?

Or the willingness to put yourself out there, and declare to everyone

This  is me. This is art.

Picture: Absract Painting, Red By Ad Reinhardt

Only One Way out of the Labirynth

Looking For Alaska *Spoilers spoilers spoilers*

At the start of every chapter, it said ___ days before. Starting at a number close to 200, it slowly dwindled down.

I actually don't know when I realized that the book was counting down to Alaska's death. But during the book, I was morbidly aware that she was going to die. Every new chapter, I panicked a bit more. I was not ready for Alaska to leave me yet. I got fustrated. This book was not giving me enough time with her! I had to stall it just a little bit.
So, with little interest, I perused the back cover, reading what people had to say on the topic of Looking for Alaska by  David Green. According to the Kircus Reviews I would cry for . Reviewers consistantly exaggerated their opinions of books. I don't nessasarily blame them, I mean, if you want someone to put your opinion on their book, you cant make that book seem just average. In any case, I disregarded the review, and reopened the book.
But I was still thinking, Would this make me cry? I knew how Alaska was going to die to. Not specific details, but in no way would it be an accident. Alaska was searchign for a way out of the Labirynth of suffering that was her life, and she realized the only escape, the only exit was death. The entire book was not a love story, but one about death. But now that it is not simply the idea of death but the actual death of a person who, though non-exsistant, I had grown close to.

The answer was no. I did not cry for her. I cried for everyone else. I knew she no longer felt the pain, and where ever she was- is- she would't miss anyone.

But she left everyone else missingher, and feeling guilt.  She could've waited- just a few more days! She had no qualms with ruining lives. And though they were not her last words, the one who stayed with me of her where "To be continued?" And the answer was no.

And yes, I did cry. I cried for the Colonel, screaming over and over to no one "I'm so sorry". I cried for Miles who had to lie to himself to fend off the pain. For the Eagle, having to spread the news. For everyone who had to hear it. But the Kircus Review was wrong, I did nto cry for Alaska. I cried for every single other person in the world, whether they knew her or not, Loved her or hated her. Because only they would have to live with her decision.