The Mask Seller’s Observation I carve, I paint, with careful hands, Yet never once do I understand. Why hide a face, when truth is free? Still, masks they want—and pay to me. A king’s bold grin, a jester’s cheer, They buy, they wear, they disappear. “What is it that you all conceal?” They only laugh but never reveal. Yet hunger speaks, so I obey, I shape, I mold, I sell each day. Perhaps one day, no masks they’ll need— But ‘til that day, my hands still feed.
Masks can hide, yet also show, The truths we bury deep below. In silence, they reveal what's true, Parts of us we never knew.
As long as the demand is there, make the masks & keep the food on your table. You are selling yourself short, a mask does more than conceal truths, it can also amplify them. If you are a craftsman, your work is more important than you may realize.
The mask's true burden is known only to the one who weilds it—a weight not just of wood or cloth, but of silent struggles carved by rough days. In times when the wind bites harder and the sun forgets to warm, it’s the wearer who learns that endurance is a quiet wisdom, forged in the shadow of adversity.
Beneath the mask’s grim veil, a hidden strength blooms, whispering resilience to those who dare to bear its unspoken trials.
Yes, these masks reflect our experiences. Every notch and color helped shape who we are today. Adversity has formed my mask, but I wouldn't change a thing. "Quiet Wisdom" is something that can only be earned.
A mask’s weight isn’t just in what it hides but in what it forces us to carry. The struggle isn’t in endurance alone, but in deciding when to bear it and when to set it down. Perhaps wisdom isn’t just survival but knowing when the burden is no longer yours
we wear these masks like skin too tight, each one a role we never quite escape— son, father, lover, friend, enemy, king, fool. we are all things to all people and nothing to ourselves. each face is a lie told so often we start to believe it, but beneath it all there is a hunger, a longing to be seen, to be free, to shed the skin and stand bare before the world, unafraid of what we are.
Are we loved for who we are, or for what we do?
the masks you speak of sound like different clothes we wear to protect us from the climate. in your case, shield us from humanity. but do we grow within until we can move the mask from head to heart as a symbol of victory? the desire to hide or be seen
what if all the masks we wear are the true versions of ourselves in different situations? there is no "removing the mask" or "behind the mask" because we are the masks. they arent some fake version of ourselves, they are a fundamental part of us
What can be, Unburdened by what has been.
The resemblance is uncanny, as I lie exhausted after breastfeeding my baby to sleep. My husband, like the man behind her, cradles our little one with care. He hands me tea with honey, sweet like the fruit she holds. Her mask, one I'm all too familiar with, is blissfully off as she enjoys rare moments of me-time. Her hand rests on her imperfect belly, the source of much joy as small limbs kicked from both inside and out. Her hair, a mess of tangles, proof of sleepless nights. Exhausted, but so much in love.
Creation: One of life's most consequential, raw & upending moments. To Ava & Emma: Creatio Ex Nihilo.
We all found a piece of ourselves in her. Motherhood on different timelines. You help me remember the chapped skin. The weight of him resting upon my chest. It's his birthday. Now he runs in schoolboy strides, chasing his friends & folly.
Every mother knows and cherishes this feeling! Even without her baby in her arms, the connection is unbroken. It is unexplainable, but a mothers instinct allows her to sense the wants and needs of her child. A bond that transcends human understanding.
I placed it in her hand—a whole, ripe fruit. Not a piece, not a seed. Everything. She did not eat it or refuse it, only held it, as if love could be held at all. Time moved through it. It did not bruise, rot, or break. It simply ceased. One moment, there. The next, not. Nothing was taken or returned, yet something was gone. A love so vast, it collapsed into nothing. A weight so great, it left no imprint. A gift so complete, it left only absence. If nothing remains, what had I given? What had she lost?
The fruit is gone, yet I taste it still. (λ)ove was never hers to keep—only mine to be. ∅ fades, but ∃(me) remains, full.
The beauty of the moment is the opportunity to seize, capture, and understand for eternity. Nothing can be traded for a moment in time, no asset or amount of currency. The now, the present is what truly matters when everything is said and done.
I’m the bard of Frogland! My lute just cracked, but here's a song ♪She was afraid, my love, Since she'd never seen a fruit that didn’t rot. "It took years to reach the Kingdom of the Included. Many fruits, but none is as beautiful as his." This, she sang♪
it smelled of oats. then dip spit. later turning sour, transforming to void stagnant tears that sat like asphalt on eyes. its final state. a puddle of cat piss on a hibachi grill at a birthday. our nostrils drank. lapping it to satisfy tradition. to fuel the rise and fall. processing rot. our eyes spilled oil into a polluted river and inherited the vacancy they craved. unable to discern dream from burden. salvation in flatulence. hollow worship. holes were filled. the stench sometimes resembled a savior.
there was something here. but it’s a fuckable gambling ad now. a place to goon. or an injury lawyer. or something else entirely
Ah, yes. The great tragedy of oat-scented rot and hibachi-born enlightenment. I, too, have known the agony of nostrils drinking what should not be sipped.
I thought I smelled something rotten over here.
Sugar runs high, then crashes low, A silent fight you’ll always know. This came from nowhere, swift and cruel, Changed our lives, rewrote the rules. But in each rise, in every fall, My firstborn son, you’ll brave it all. From your first breath, my heart was yours, A love unshaken, strong and pure. I’d take this pain, bear every scar, Trade every wish on every star. You’re not alone, my strength is yours. Type one won’t dim the light you shine. Forever proud to call you son.
To my sons: In this brief time we are given to live, remember that health, family, & love are the only things that truly matter.
Tiny hands, a world to mold, A father’s duty, precious gold. Guide with love, teach what’s right, Shape a future, burning bright.
I rise, I fall, but never break, Your strength in me, my fire awake. You faced the storm so I could see, This fight won’t take the best of me. Through every test, through all I’ve had, Forever proud to call you Dad.
C’est la vie. Am F Says it all. C G ‘You and me’ was just something we use to recall. Am F C G Don’t know where I’m going Am F But it ain’t where I’ve been. C G And in the end, pain’s a friend. C G Am Hello pain again. F C ~ For Josh. Miss you. RIP
“love never truly leaves” ~ #484 To always find your voice and these chords… 0xaccabc4ab0c309038bba187791da53af9dd56fcc
Gone but not forgotten. C'est la vie.
Some paths are unknown, yet we walk them. Some memories fade, yet they shape us. Pain may be a friend, but so is love; and love never truly leaves. For Josh, and for all those who still walk with us in ways we cannot see. A beautiful tribute and song!
A figure lies still, their mask slowly slipping from their face. This porcelain shield, once a perfect fit, now reveals glimpses of the true self beneath. Its gradual descent mirrors life’s fleeting nature, each millimeter exposing more raw humanity. Half-covered, half-revealed, the sleeper’s face becomes a canvas of contrasts. The mask’s movement traces time’s relentless march, leaving behind imprints of laughter and sorrow. Exposed skin tells its own story – of sun-kissed days and tear-stained nights.
This is the state you'll become after an evening out with the man to my right – mask slipping, raw self laid bare in the sun.
This is not a Mask. This is the skin I am shedding. Disturbingly messy, but a new becoming. There is no true self. For we are always masquerading.
Life’s saga piles on masks too heavy to hoist, or the clock just runs dry. Plush isn’t always posh—sometimes the richest ride is the raw one.
With every mask we play a role. When the role is complete, the mask is dropped. What remains when all masks have been worn and all roles have been played?
Emerging from the chaos that is life, finding a path towards the light, while the world erupts in chaos below you. Thanks to that struggle, the player recognizes something more important & moves the mask from their face, no longer needing a shield of anonymity. Rather, he protects his heart. His core. His source. For he has tapped into a primal urge towards enlightenment & while this world may see his face, they’ll never see the experiences that led to the bravery of taking the mask off.
destroy the ego. destroy the self. find what you love & let it kill you. disclaimer: I’m chaotic. Don’t listen to me.
With Mask removed, we feel the light directly, calling us higher. We see clearer... And finally realize the truth: Our heart needs no protection! All these years, armored from others, prevented true, deep connection. Our heart is our greatest strength!
Stripping away the masquerade, I stand bare before a fractured world—a father, steadfast in protecting his children. Once, four wonders lit my life; now, upheaval and wounds shape them. Each day, I bear the weight of finances, education, and parenting, treading carefully as a serpent coils—fate’s foot pressing on my back, waiting for my misstep. H. N. H. L., I love you. Yet even in burden, a spark remains—guiding me home, lighting my true path.
The weight is shared. Fate tests, but love endures. Strength isn’t the mask—it’s what lies beneath. Together, we keep the spark
I believe in the idea that the memories we retain are those from new experiences, good and bad. Life's everychanging challenges are what keeps us human, monotony is non-existence. The shared struggle is what truly binds us, embrace the flickering sparks.
I know this weight; as a father, I walk that same path. We wear the mask of strength, but beneath it, we carry love, fear, and hope. Fate may press down, but perhaps it only tests those who refuse to fall. The spark remains, and with it, we light the way.
Our real intentions and egos are often concealed behind the masks we wear. It makes me think about our willingness to harm others just for personal gain, highlighting the darker side of our human nature that we often keep hidden beneath social facades. The tension between the outward persona and the hidden, potentially dangerous desires that drive us, which might get unnoticed by others.
Masks obscure and reveal, shielding pain, shaping dreams, and balancing truth with kindness in the dance of life.
Beneath every mask lies a choice—restraint or revelation, harm or humanity. Darkness thrives in shadows, but so does transformation. The tension isn’t just deception; it’s the battle between who we are and who we choose to be. The real question: which self
The masks we wear hide not just our faces, but our true intentions. We show the world one version of ourselves while the truth remains unseen
on the flip side many people with introverted personalities will only allow their true, positive, selves to come out when wearing the mask, without the mask they are just shells of themselves
Are masks only to hide our vile instincts? In a society that celebrates “winners”, I understand why you would want to conceal your weakness, your humanity. There's only one you. A flawed human being. Be Shameless. Maskless. Make it count.
Agreed—some thrust upon us, others won or wagered away. Life’s a dicey dance; not every tumble dims the spark. From shadows, we still snag a win.
Your observation about the masks we wear reveals the complex intersection between our outward personas and hidden intentions. It challenges us to be more self-aware and strive for authenticity in our actions.
Saudade, a longing for the past, the lighthouse that guides the sailor home. A decade passes, returning as a stranger in my native land and the house once full of life, food, and family is gone. Across the ocean I’ll build it again, from the ground up. I’ve got the tools. The light will guide me.
Acabou Chorare
Ten years gone. Sailing through feelings to remember. Yes! The light will guide you. Where you need to go. The rooms for the future we’ll build together. No longer a stranger; You are not alone. An ocean of food and friendship. Family. We welcome you home.
Saudade do que nunca foi. Do you really have to cross the ocean to build again?
Here’s to you, my friends so true, You shaped me, through and through. The laughter and memories we keep, A bond time will never sweep. I raise my glass to you, my heart, You see beyond the mask, never apart. In your love I find my home, With you, I never walk alone. To my daughter, fierce and bold, The day you came, a story untold. Joy and duty mixed in my chest, In your eyes lies my true test. What is life but moments fleeting? Just be drunk - on wine, love or dreams, Be drunk. It's all life's gift.
Get drunk on life and show who you truly are. No need for masks, shine your light. Fearlessly be yourself: that’s how you build.
cheers!
Thanks for sharing this neighbour, so much resonance I take from your words. We also chose this small section of the incredible masterpiece, for the sense of togetherness and joy that toasting with one another can evoke. Be drunk. //P
Behold this circle of life, we find ourselves in a peculiar dance: having conquered nature, we now yearn to return to our primal state. The masks we wear grow more sophisticated, but underneath, we're still searching for the same things our ancestors sought: connection, acceptance, and a good branch to hang from. Look deeper into these waters, young seeker. Do you see your true face, or just another mask? The reflection shows not what you are, but what you've always been. Asante sana, squash banana.
Wewe nugu, mimi hapana.
Everything comes from light, and my life freezes it. Who captures it? Our masks hide it. What's the final layer that receives this light? Once absorbed, peace follows. Credit - Nicolas Bets CN
Amidst the vivacious revelry, a shadowy-rooted figure observes the orderly chaos unfold. That’s me. Despite an invitation to the zoo, I still feel detached from the great Duchess & Dukes as they gather at the Holy Communion. Who am I to be here? How did I earn this invitation? Hidden behind a hollow mask, my true mask blends flesh and bones. Do I have a second chance to reintegrate into the tribe? May the position of this marker fulfil my sense of identity and soul? Only time will reveal the outcome.
Once hollow, the marker filled and completed the DNA with ♥️, courage & myself. "You're enough and worthy of love" - GMK to JJ🫂
To me, the ghoulish, spindly shadows stretching from the branches in The Ramble evoke DNA and chromosomes - the fabric of the costumes we wear to life. It seems fitting, then, that you'd long to fill that "hollow mask" with a "sense of identity and soul."
If this was 'where is root mask waldo' I think you'd def win something
You focus on us, but isn’t it them who truly deserve your attention?
Life imitates art. Self-fulfilling prophecies are real. Focus guides path.
yes
Focus on us, there is no them. Focus on them, there is no us. Focus on balance, there is no depth. The human condition. An unsolvable riddle. Try to enjoy the Game.
//To P - You taught me about the chain, Sam's work and the beauty that lies within both. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, toasting all life's milestones. I vow to be honest and caring and to grow old by your side as your love and best friend. You are my favourite person and I choose you to be my partner in life. You know ipfs.io/ipfs/bafybeiggkxmifhxk2v3ayrmbdp7e3anhy4fbjafby6cgeruvisjfgd5moy "These masks are not our own, for we are stewards. Entrusted with the keys, our word is our bond."
I thought Ethereum was the place to store our vows on-chain forever but maybe Bitcoin would be a better option. //E
Mask #540, I adore your love’s bloom, a vow so pure in this wild clash. Mask #189 suggests, inscribe it on Bitcoin with flowers, everlasting. Can such trust soothe Luci’s fear of this masked fray?
It's been a joy to share this experience with you. Putting the Masquerade on the big screen and going through all the observations over a glass of wine. I'm glad I could share my love of Sam's work with you. Love P
| | ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞ ͞| |⠀Amazing chest ahead⠀| |_________________________| | | |
Did I stutter?
B*tches come and go, brah but you know I stay Yung lean, ginseng strip 2002 - 2013
⠊’⠧⠑ ⠃⠑⠑⠝ ⠎⠑⠁⠗⠉⠓⠊⠝⠛ ⠋⠕⠗ ⠊⠞ ⠍⠽ ⠓⠕⠇⠑ ⠇⠊⠋⠑⠂ ⠃⠥⠞ ⠊ ⠉⠁⠝’⠞ ⠎⠑⠑ ⠊⠞⠲
//To E - These two characters remind me of the day we first shared a drink as husband and wife. Surrounded by our friends and family in your home country and my adopted one. Life has given us chaos since but you are my favourite person and I choose you to be my partner in life. 512 was never enough, the chain is where the metadata lies ipfs.io/ipfs/bafybeibu5ig2zwfztcpqvprt2qla24mxyffjq7f5w6haqvi3yqpo76dz "These masks are not our own, for we are stewards. Entrusted with the keys, our word is our bond."
I wouldn't change my observation: be it location (memory trigger) or content other than making the metadata the main image. //P
My light My heart My everything I love playing the game of life with you, inside and out of the Masquerade. Remember to look after our neighbours, you never know when we might need them to take our bins out. They're not as scary as they look. Love, //E
There are instances that remind us of our past memories, good or bad. Good ones are always cherished. And we come back to them again and again, and it puts a smile on our faces. CN
The eyes are not here There are no eyes here said the hollow mask In this valley of dying stars In this hollow valley This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms In this last of meeting places We grope together And avoid speech Gathered on this beach of the tumid river. there his voice echoed on the shore: This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends This is the way the world ends Not with a bang but a whimper.
writing from Tehran where we're getting crushed by the weight of life. Eliot felt perfect for this mask because of it. to hope.
'The eyes reappear' and now stare back, saddened that you traded your originality and potential for the words of another. Direct from the pages of The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot.
Using words of others is not the problem. This is how we learn and we progress. Not finding a way to add your own personal twist is what inhibits us from developing.
Masks as tools ---------------------- Masks as Master
The owner of this mask decided long ago that they no longer want it. In plain sight, I don't believe it to be lost, but rather intentionally discarded. As grass and weeds now grow through it, it has laid dormant for some time. The worms will soon claim it.
