A F I R S T E S S AY

I N / O U T VA N G O G H ’ S
NIGHTS
• Shortly after seeing four paintings’ readings. I found
out how I’m able to make my owns essays.

• With a lot of humbleness, I’m presenting you a rich

talk about two of Van Gogh’s masterpieces “the night
cafe” & “ at the cafe”. Both are linked the same way as
these whites words to this black blank .
 A BEAUTIFUL
O U T S TA N D I N G N I G H T,
UNDER SOME DEEP BLUE
D A R K , A W AY F R O M T H E
BLUES... NOT THE MUSIC.
A LOT OF PEOPLE
R E L A X I N G , TA K I N G A B AT H
O F F R E S H S E N S AT I O N S ,
AND SOME COLDS
FEELINGS OF
ACHIEVEMENTS , HOPES,
E X P E C TAT I O N S . A R E T H E S E
PEOPLE REAL. IS THIS
NIGHT REALM, ARE THESE
HEARTS’ MOUVEMENT
P H Y S I C A L LY A P P R O V E D .
N O , T H AT ’ S J U S T A N
ILLUSION CALLED LIFE, I’M
NOT SURE OF IT BEING AN
I L L U S I O N O R A R E A L I T Y. . .
 E M P T Y S E AT S , F U L L H E A R T S . J O Y, C A L M LY TA L K I N G ,
L A U G H I N G . L I V I N G . A C I N E M AT O G R A P H I C V I E W, O U R M A I N
CHARACTERS ARE PEOPLE, SKY AND LIFE . THIS MOON
M AY B E T H E F I R S T O N E T H E Y ’ V E E V E R T E S T E D P E A C E AT, M AY
BE THE LAST ONE, EVEN MOONS AND MOODS ARE
A F F E C T E D B Y T H E R E L AT I V I T Y I F R E A L I T Y.
 INSIDE/OUTSIDE
L I G H T / D E AT H
LIFE/DARK
O N O U R W AY T O L I F E W E PA S S E D B Y A M I X E R , T H AT ’ S W H Y
WE’RE CAPPUCCINO. WE’RE HUMANS.
O U T S I D E A G A L L E R Y O F P E O P L E ’ S FA C E S , I N S I D E A M U S E U M
OF IDENTITIES. GLASSES, BOTTLES AND A LOT OF EMPTY
S E AT S . A N A P O C A LY P T I C S C E N E F E AT U R E D B Y A N
I R R E S I S T I B L E M I S E R Y. Y O U C A N E A S I LY R E A D T H E I R L I V E S ’
T R A C E S , A M A N ’ S FA C E I S A L O N G - S H O R T S T O R Y A U T H O R E D
B Y L I F E ’ S T I M E S . C O L O R S , W H AT ’ S U S E F O R T H E M W H E N L I F E
IS COLORLESS. I ADMIRE HOW YELLOW REFLECTS THE REAL
DEPRESSION, SORRY THEORISTS IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH
J O Y. S O M E O F U S L I K E H O W I T ’ S W R I T T E N , T H E Y J U S T G E T
USED. THEY KILLED THEIR SORROWS ....
 I ’ M H E R E F A C I N G E C H O E S F R O M M Y PA S T R E A L M ,
HANDS FULL OF TICKETS, NUMBERS AND NAMES
A N D I S T I L L F E E L L O S T, L E F T A L O N E A N D C A L M
W H O ’ R E Y O U ? W H E R E H AV E Y O U B E E N ? E L M
I L O O K A R O U N D B U T I T ’ S Y O U T H AT I C A N ’ T R E P L A C E
I T ’ S Y O U R I M A G E S T H AT I C A N T F A C E
I’M STILL WASTED IN THE MIDDLE OF NO PLACE

A N O N Y M O U S LY R Q Z M