Art, and such.

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Not all art is painted, or otherwise created.  Sometimes it just is.  The art of war, for example.  Such a terrible cost, but too, sometimes of great value.  Worth more than the loss?  There are times and places in which the price can't be questioned.  Other times it absolutely should be.  The beauty in it, if the horror too.

War, if done correctly, isn't about control, power, winning, or else, it is... a feeble attempt at hope.  Taking the term from a mouth thing, to a world thing.  All other forms of war are murder.  Even when the men fighting are doing it rightly, doesn't mean their leaders aren't just getting rich, or doing murder for gain of some sort.

Still, watching these next videos reminds me why I joined the service.  And, if sometimes worst case scenarios, or moments, too, the price of life, and some other things.  Few of the men on the ground get to choose whether they go to war.  Though they can choose how they enact it.  And what risks they will take, and for whom.  To some degrees.

There are darker things.

To see what men can do to each other?  To see it plainly, or hear about it?

Even if you do not care for the bureaucrat, or royal?  What about the person.  I think the "elite" are becoming aware that the peasants are... more than a little restless.  A banker there, a CEO there, others?  More, faster, sooner, later?  Treat people like dirt, for not wanting to be replaced, genocided, sold out, undercut, betrayed at every step, watched, ogled, mistreated in every electronic, economic, "religious", secular, "civil" way, and more?  It'll... get ugly.

Do I regret that bad things happen to bad, or even indifferent, people?  Some less than others.  Some more.  But, really, it isn't my thing.  I avoid the mob, even if I might happen to agree with it, or aspects of it.  If you are in the mob, literally or figuratively, your choices are gone.  Like a balloon in the wind.  Still, I... see.

Other forms of beauty, art.  I have loved this picture for a very long time.  If I think the narrator gets it wrong... as one of the fallen, forlorn, wastrels.  Not... necessarily lonely.  I can see where he gets it.  But... when the world escapes one, we just get used to it.  Find ease in not having to keep up, or talk all the time, as we slowly or quickly fade.  Especially if mostly just broken, not really dying.

Not lonely.  At some point.  Oh, as to beautifying?  I am sure that is how she sees herself.  He... let her be her, in her mind, on the canvas.  A moment of near normalcy.  A sense of it.

And just a pinch of music, and... more.  Understood or not.

Thought I'd finish it, and put it out, before access disappears again.