UpRooted

I feel as though I have grown much, yet in an instant a child. There is this subtle awareness...an awareness I am afraid to face, about the way I feel towards certain things. Ha ha, that is almost unbearably generic. I suppose the point is that I'm recognizing how little integrity I have towards myself; a cheat to my own.

I am an artist. I cope with the destruction through creation. It feels there are entire worlds I have to speak, incredible emotions and thoughts to express... I'm living in this byzantine brain, in worlds of metaphors. Everything encountered everyday is a mental trigger. I can't seem to get this brain to shut up at night because its running at mach speed for the sake of interpretation. Oh if I could articulate these insane deviations...

At any rate, I suppose that humans seem to fascinate me more and more everyday. They really do. "Expression" itself certainly is something...I think I've alienated myself from it for the sake of observation. I can't tell you how many moments I would love to express the profound beauty I witness day to day- the majority of it being in people's souls- It is nearly devastating. Counterbalances are everywhere, I've come to learn.

The visions of our world are free to be shaped as we see fit. Interesting how perspective affects each of us, specifically pertaining to the flow of time. I can hold an eternity in a single moment, or I can simply have a moment.

Hmm. Truth. Or shall I say words? Now there is something. Our perspectives become our truths, and these "truths" are manipulated into words. It isn't necessarily "true" in the actual sense of the word, but oh how all our varying perceptions can see the same thing differently and state it so. This, my friends, is the very whim of my existance. I laugh at such when perhaps no laughter seems fit to be deserved. I manipulate this entire concept to advantage, as my mendacious side prefers. This involves clamping my ears to unsightly verdicts, denying my being in its entirety, fact. I recognize verdict. I simply overlook these diseases.

And in the long run, perhaps that is the most destructive. To overlook worldly sickness rather than seeking out a cure. Sounds humorously familiar. In the mean time I create, to ease these lies.

I know one thing, however, as I traverse these abstract sentiments. I am waiting for something; though it is difficult to render. I am waiting to be startled.