My Brain was storming while I sat under a tree and stared at the galaxy. The moon and the stars. They were so big. I was so small. And I began to type in my laptop: A different read for you all.
Just because they’ve caged me doesn’t mean they’ve incarcerated my emotions. I could want, even if I can’t get what I want. A human being can create their own world within an iota of dust. All it takes to do so is to be a little bit passionate and extremely insane. No thing’s stupid enough if the perspective can be defined from a point of logic, which too somehow feels incredibly biased to me. Because I’ve always believed logic expresses the elements of results coming out right, according to the mechanisms of a suitable pattern it specifically suggests.
Logic never supports the odd. It lacks imagination– and the risk to look stupid.
It supports evolution and the existence of man kind from a living cell created by accident. But it ignores the criteria; the phenomenon of how time itself came in to existence. And if it comes up with single minded answers of the universe coming in to existence through the big bang, more questions are born outright – for example about how the big bang came in to existence – leave apart occurred – and how’d that mother of creations pop out from nowhere? And if there was a no where, where’d that no where come from? There is no limit to curiosity– and so logic defines it as out of man’s grasp to comprehend.
Just because we don’t have logical answers to how and who created the stone henge doesn’t mean aliens invaded earth.
And what logic lacks most is the essence of imagination. To make and believe.
What it lacks is to trust the obscene. What it denies is the imagination in faith– the existence of God.
Everything society labels out as stupid, like God or black holes or Van Gogh’s painting or the Light bulb or the gravitational theory or the first airplane… were causes that disrupted and exceeded the levels of understanding at first.
Because everyone laughed at the Wright brothers when they believed they could create an airplane and make it fly.
Because Van Goph to them was an insane artist who did nothing but make childish paintings of the night sky and cottages.
It was only after they saw the machine’s engineering — the painting’s secret – the airplane’s fly – the stars maneuvering in deception motion within a still painting… that they’d start worshiping them later.
Motive goes like this, I don’t give a shit about who thinks what about my ambitions.
If my heart says I want to play basketball with the sun, I’m going to put up a ladder on my roof and go for it.
I’d fall and be the joke you want me to be.. but that voice inside me, that fucking motivating bitch – it wont give me a chance to let it down.
But for the sake of small time, coming back to the park bench and my existent self around, sitting in the garden just by the pond, beside a well dressed skinny old man… I promise myself to not be persuaded by the mainstream of logic, just to suit and fit in the mass’s requirements. If I’m weird, I’m weird. If I’m stupid I’m stupid. I’m not going to change my need to just be.
Accept me. Reject me. Improve me. Destroy me.
In your dreams.
I walked back home and ate two toasts. Sigh.
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