I guess it's time for my inevitable rant. I do hope some will find meaning in
words long lost to this lacking mind.
There are so many things to say, but most of it will stay in the silence of my mind, in the depth of the black void some call a soul, the self, the mind and essence.
Do not deceive your self with the belief I am falling apart in self pity over the life of vanity I could have had, I am neither ignorant nor dull, I can see your quick judgment, raining needles and pins over my exposed back, I assure you, not one of these thoughts is productive in any kind of way, not one will make me bend or break.
I'm not strong, just too stubborn for my own good, at the most inappropriate times.
And how can you condemn a being, when you, yourself, so desperately seek a heaven with no judging eyes, the kind that seeks small imperfection to make you feel inferior, because, in the end, we all are, but not all can find the courage to stand up, to shout, to show no mercy to an offender that only reminds us of something we lack.
Do not bother, with the useless idea I am here to lecture or teach a reader. No. I am here simply because, I am.
I think, therefore I am.
You, the reader, the person I am supposedly talking to writing to, should understand the simple concept of lack of words, do you not?
The moment when all simplicity seems to disappear into a long forgotten abyss in the mind of the self, and all that is left is a concept and a short head shake, to indicate the loss.
And yet, we all try to put thoughts into words, into music and arts that, most of us do not understand.
And the critics still stand there, pointing at faults which, to their bright minds seem crucial.
Yet, how can you find a fault, in an art, where art is feeling.
How can one say a feeling is ugly, when he himself is not experiencing it?
How can one find a fault, in something not his own in a world where everything is a personal opinion?
There's no way to convey to you, the reader, whoever you might be, however smart you are, the feelings, thoughts, ideas floating around a mind long deprived of it's sanity, no art or music shall come from these hands that can only type words to describe frustration, that's a feeling you say, but, can you feel it? Do you know the extent of the idea, the pure melancholy settling in ones mind, trying to recall the idea of freedom?
Sorry for if there are some grammatical or spelling mistakes. I always make those, and am to lazy to check this time around.
It's a little different from my usual, more melancholy induced entries, I personally like it. =P
This one quite self-contradictory, I'm aware of that, alas, I am in no way interested in changing my writing style, ideas or concepts for any one but myself.
Any how, yet again, I do hope you enjoy this one.
Oh, and as a last note, I've noticed I actually get some entries on the counter thing, so if you don't mind, just for me to know you're there, a short comment would be quite appreciated and even welcomed.
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