This is the interlude to cynicism.
Or, dear friends, must I say that this is the postscript to my dead hopes, dreams and delusions to the dark side? The side where, I, of all beings, succumbed to DEATH himself.
You may all have noticed a slight upturn in my style, my gait or my words. But do you see a familiar silhouette behind THESE lines. Yes, the lines you are currently reading? Do you see the "old me" somewhere here? The "me" that you hated, despaired and ... mocked? DO YOU?
Well, I do hope so. Because I see her clearly now.
I threw her away.
I got a new "me".
I threw that "me" away.
I got a new one again this summer. But this "new one" is actually a mixture of the above mentioned two. Minus the transparent sins, flaws, faults, and most of all insecurities. Plus the more innocent, more well-behaved, less procrastinating epitome of a true artist. An artist who is in touch with both reality and fantasy. The former was one I used to blend with the latter.
What I'm basically trying to say is that: If you wanna get to know me, which is a Draconian task, don't judge me from my past. The posts before this post were written by the hateful, dark "me".
Whatever.
In short, I'm an artist and an activist-psychologist at the same time. My sole mission is to help people. Summer is actually the only time I get to help myself. So bear with me, please! I'm also trying to expand my social empire, so, again, bear with me. Puh-leez!
I don't think we're talking about change anymore. Change is change. Change is different.
Now what I'm trying to do is not change. In fact, I'm trying to tell the world that I've changed - that people do change despite what my "fat" sister stated a year ago (she said: "People don't change. They only wear masks.").
I'm proud of myself. I'm my linguistic ego again!
'Tis my postscript:
Goodbye dead dreams, dead hopes, dead fate. With this day, you all will sink in the Waters of Lethe - the favorite place of mine as a kid.
Here I am feasting on a new golden platter - one that I created by myself, while my antediluvian ego mourns in requiem for my ill-disposed dreams.
This is the prelude to divine intervention.
Or, dear friends, must I say that this is the postscript to my dead hopes, dreams and delusions to the dark side? The side where, I, of all beings, succumbed to DEATH himself.
You may all have noticed a slight upturn in my style, my gait or my words. But do you see a familiar silhouette behind THESE lines. Yes, the lines you are currently reading? Do you see the "old me" somewhere here? The "me" that you hated, despaired and ... mocked? DO YOU?
Well, I do hope so. Because I see her clearly now.
I threw her away.
I got a new "me".
I threw that "me" away.
I got a new one again this summer. But this "new one" is actually a mixture of the above mentioned two. Minus the transparent sins, flaws, faults, and most of all insecurities. Plus the more innocent, more well-behaved, less procrastinating epitome of a true artist. An artist who is in touch with both reality and fantasy. The former was one I used to blend with the latter.
What I'm basically trying to say is that: If you wanna get to know me, which is a Draconian task, don't judge me from my past. The posts before this post were written by the hateful, dark "me".
Whatever.
In short, I'm an artist and an activist-psychologist at the same time. My sole mission is to help people. Summer is actually the only time I get to help myself. So bear with me, please! I'm also trying to expand my social empire, so, again, bear with me. Puh-leez!
I don't think we're talking about change anymore. Change is change. Change is different.
Now what I'm trying to do is not change. In fact, I'm trying to tell the world that I've changed - that people do change despite what my "fat" sister stated a year ago (she said: "People don't change. They only wear masks.").
I'm proud of myself. I'm my linguistic ego again!
'Tis my postscript:
Goodbye dead dreams, dead hopes, dead fate. With this day, you all will sink in the Waters of Lethe - the favorite place of mine as a kid.
Here I am feasting on a new golden platter - one that I created by myself, while my antediluvian ego mourns in requiem for my ill-disposed dreams.
This is the prelude to divine intervention.
1 comment:
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