Bittersweet - triggered by the taste impulse, between love and hate, live and dead, creation and vanishing - two strong opposite feelings and yet indispensable, for increasing taste, horizons and achieving knowledge.. Once we taste the sweetness we want let go, until the inevitable cut throws us in the dark cold nothing.. Withstanding, the life irony forces us to take position. Should we choose to carry on, a new taste of life spreads, it is the bittersweet taste, opening up new horizons, a deeper view, a more sensitive and even delicate taste and we realize that we can at least choose from which part of view, we want to see and feel this play, as actors, stage directors and viewers, spectators, in the same time, until the moment of truth hits us... Welcome to our Bittersweetart space, the place where we share bittersweet posts.. My name is Roland, I am a 56 years old art lover. My thoughts and favourite world quotes (put in quotation marks), about bittersweet: The pain is unbearable, bitterness so strong, dark holes trying to swallow any light. But as darker it is, the brighter light is shining... We are souls far away from home, grounded to experience this form of humanbeing, moved between dreams, hopes, desire and resignation, remorse, divine creation and the vanish of anything we love, between spirituality and materialism, selfless love sharing and brutal egocentricity, what remains is a broken humanity. Love is allaround us, omnipresent; but how could we see it, if we turn our backs on it... "We Are All Broken. That’s How the Light Gets In" And after all, how could we deeply and truly wish to finish travelling and return Home, without visiting all the places, even those in the dark and far, far away… “...Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart....” Fyodor Dostoyevsky
I posted something yesterday. It wasn't a rant. It wasn't an opinion. It was a simple, unvarnished, inconvenient **truth**.
I slept on it. And when I woke up, the realization hit me like a bucket of ice water in a burning house.
**Nobody. Gives. A. Shit.**
Not a single, solitary damn.
I was a fool. An absolute relic. Standing in the digital town square holding up a raw diamond, only to realize everyone else is happily trading in polished rhinestones and painted dog shit. And they’re having a *great* time.
The world doesn't *ignore* the truth anymore. That would be polite. That would imply it’s sitting there, waiting to be noticed. No. The world actively **reviles** it. It’s an allergen. A party pooper. A wet blanket on the glorious, screaming bonfire of absolute bullshit we’ve all decided to dance around.
We don’t live in a world of mistakes or misunderstandings. We live in a meticulously crafted Theme Park of Fraud.
* **Hoaxes** are the roller-coasters—thrilling, communal, a shared scream into the void.
* **Phony profundity** is the overpriced cotton candy—colorful, sweet, dissolving into nothing the moment you consume it.
* **Fake everything**—news, faces, outrage, compassion—is the park’s architecture. It’s all there is to see.
And the truth? The truth is the rusted, “OUT OF ORDER” sign on the broken water fountain in a forgotten corner. It’s an eyesore. It’s an inconvenience. It suggests something isn’t working in the Happy Kingdom. So we look away.
We can’t handle the truth? That’s too passive. We **don’t want** to handle it. Handling it requires callouses. It requires standing alone. It requires putting down your curated persona and your dopamine drip and actually *thinking*, with the cold, hard light of reality shining on you.
It’s exhausting. And it’s lonely. And the crowd roaring with laughter at the latest digital clown show… they’re not.
So I’ve taken it down. That post. That little slice of truth.
Why? Not because I’m scared. But because I’m disgusted. I will not be the fool providing rare wine to a crowd that only wants to drink fermented gutter water. I will not shout a coherent sentence into a stadium where the only goal is to make the loudest, most senseless noise.
Let the carnival have its night. Let the lies spin and the fakes flourish. The tent is all theirs.
My page is quiet for now. Because casting pearls isn’t just futile before swine—it’s an insult to the pearls.
The truth can wait. It’s patient. It’ll be here, cold and hard and real, long after this circus has burned itself to the ground on its own cheap fuel.
Until then, enjoy the show. I hear the next hoax is a real banger.
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