Assisi

It seems strange to me that so many beautiful things should be seen from roadways or railways, as though aesthetics played a part in mapping out a journey.

Assisi is beautiful, the church is beautiful, so much more so when you are able to appreciate the whole of the thing in its grandiosity and mystery than when one is having the entire entity, the place, picked apart and argued over: whose fresco is this? Is it an original? Some say it is because this guy was in town.

Who cares? Is that what they wanted us arguing about, talking about? How can you appreciate a thing when you are so overly concerned with knowing everything, all the parts which make it up? You do not allow it to be itself, you do not allow that object to be whole. It is fear, a sickness, the fear of not knowing everything. Why do people cling to facts? I have no way of knowing but I think perhaps it lies in our general true knowledge about anything else; so instead of sitting with that discomfort and looking at it and finding our origins, one enters churches and takes control of that unknown and that uneasiness by learning and spouting the facts, holding them around them like a shield.