Identity

empty-jar

Polarity can dwell inside. It is easy to be philosophical when life seems to be evolving every second, every minute. Are we the only constant? Or are we stuck where we are set? Can an imperial force overcome a do gooder? Of course because by the force of nature, it only becomes an inevitable force, and then an inevitable entity is born. There’s addiction, peer pressure, ingrained motives, social cliques, and more. You wake up in the morning, and you don’t want to be known as a dull human being, one that stays still, one that is monochromatic, in every sense of your life. So you crumble up all your pieces and put them in a jar, hoping to call it art or something. In reality, it could be art, or it could be only your perception of potential. Maybe there is something more behind the curtain. With the intention of growing, you throw out that jar. What do you have then? What is there then? A plenitude of struggle? A battery on the verge of running out of time? Do you resort to the basic human instinct and look only for the simplistic qualities of life; on the necessary?

The thrill of the moment, and the adventure of the edge. That is a resort for some. There’s an addictive mind that caresses life with a fragile touch. A vulnerable touch. a touch that conquers many to lay still, to recluse the body to a state of solitude no individual should suffer. Do you become the former or the latter? Is there something different? If you throw out that jar? What could you do with this life? Do you stipple with the horizon and call out the sunrise when your hungry for a beautiful picture? Do you laugh with the moon out but whistle when the day comes? There’s despite, enrage, inspiration, treating the youthful rejuvenation of the heart that now beats fast in the rhythmic song of nature. So is there a time of peace? In this time of seclusion? I think that is when you can find inspiration. When creativeness calls home, that is where I can go. It is deeper than what you might think. It is deeper than that abstract painting, and that coiled tree. Henceforth if we want to find it we must go deeper, (it must be noted, some of this what I am speaking of, is inspired by many, most notably that of David Lynch) to find it. So do you run with it? How would you justify the madness that ensues? The extreme culmination of all ideas within. The creative mind bomb that explodes. Justifiably so, you research the answers, you attempt to find sympathy with the others, but the reality is, you can’t. Can you change? Is it black and white? Is it living alone or dying the most noble of ways? Killing a man within to grow a different one. Sure, why not? A rambling can only go so far. And this is that stopping point.

New Book Out

 

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