the more i understand, the less i 'know'

I think therefore I am.

I think too much, then what, am I too much?

What if my thoughts are too profound, my words too advanced, and my ideas so radical that the world must change to keep up with my pace?

The world will change, if I can be the change.

Can I be it? Can it be me?

hmmmmmm

I can do the cancan. This I know for sure, it can be measured after all.

It’s what’s expected of me, heck, often I enjoy it.

But when I don’t feel like dancing, what should I do?

What if the things I do conflict with expectations, norms, institutions, discourse, established paradigms… the r  i g h t way.

Is there a wrong way? Says who? In what context? With what conceptual framework? Which methodology did they use? Qualitative, quantitative, mixed methods? Is it ethical?

Oh, I almost forgot about the ethics committee.

Let he(she) who is without ethics cast the first stone….never mind, in fact… keep them, I don’t want any, they just weigh me down.

I have enough thoughts to keep me grounded, I don’t need your stones too.

up, down, round...and round

In a city that doesn't sleep, the dichotomous pinnacle of extreme wealth and severe poverty, you are supposed to run on the proverbial hamster wheel to make it 'to the top'.

BUT- How can you reach the top if you're going in circles?

If not the top then where?
Hmmm.... Nirvana- Zen- Hollywood- Graceland- Disney- Death... where do we get the gold medal?

Perhaps it's at the bottom? Since the hamster is always at the bottom.... that’s just a law of gravity and life too. Right? But do we always obey laws?
The laws of grammar, driving, fashion... what happens if you break one?
I broke them all today- here I stand, triumphant, in my mismatched, illiterate, stop-sign ignoring glory.
I guess that means I don't qualify for a prize. It should go to someone more deserving, who subscribes to a standard and rational zeitgeist.

I'm more like Dali's 'Dream Caused by the Flight of a Bee around a Pomogranate a Second Before Awakening', you can speculate the symbolism, but never really know the truth. Perhaps it's meaningful, or maybe he was just crazy. You'll find the answer at the end of the carrousel, if you ever decide to get off.

Is Paradise...

Is paradise doing exactly what you want without repercussions?
Having it all?
Or maybe the opposite; having nothing at all?

Following your passions, irrespective of distances, and barriers, for as long as possible...maybe forever, and maybe not, but at least knowing that when it's done, it ends.
Not needing to look back and wonder, 'what if?' Rather smiling because you were a privileged participant.

Alas the rain does fall, and the sky does cry, and we have come to see that our current reality isn't like the utopia we dream of. Instead it's composed of both pleasure and pain, gain and loss, up and down, round and round, 'ouf' -
I'm suddnelty dizzy.
What's that in the distance?


Spotted: a protest!!
Against this trite system, a protest that is anti-rules, and goes contrary to established tranditions which although can be wonderful, pale in comparison to fighting for your beliefs and feelings which is even more beautiful and powerful, dare I say: brave!

I've read a myriad of prose and have ascertained that timid people rarely make history, no one reads about them, they are not great. Rather, 'fortune favours the brave' but does it also favour the passionate? Those who act primarily on their heart's desires rather than the brain's logic...what does fotune and the future hold for them?
Time will tell, let's hope it ends in 'happily ever after' . Or at least just happily.

Still

Virtues aren't like instant coffee, you have to be patient, let them percolate.

You can't force a horse to drink, just like you can't capture a bird who's not ready to be in a cage.

And now I'm tired, tired of a fake world.

Of cookie cutter i-robots. Without blood in their veins, flowing mega bites instead.

I looked deep inside you and found true beauty, and you looked just past me.

What were you looking at?

Perhaps your watch, because time waits for no one.

I've clearly missed my cue.

And as a result the curtain call has ended. I want to stay in the theater for ever

But they keep telling me I'm too old to play dress up.

"they" say...

time heals all wounds.

Perhaps superficial scars too?

But what about the ones that are deep? Do they stay? Never go away?

Try as you may to conceal, they rear themselves.

     Plastic surgery for a synthetic replacement?
                          or
                 scarred for life?

Looks like not all 'bogo'* deals are a good bargain.


*bogo-buy one get one free

no
i will not fake a smile
no
i don't want to come
no
i'm not okay

yes, every fibre of my body, every ounce of my blood aches
yes, i opened my shell only to have the pearl stepped on
yes, i have feelings, real ones, and no- i'm not afraid of them...anymore

yes-i want to run away, go on my boat, float into the sunset, but i am stuck, no- can't go far, the sails are missing, gone, torn, stolen, tattered, beaten, dead.

no-it's not fair, nothing is, and likely won't be, yes- i hate that, yes- i wish it weren't so, but it is, and i can cry a river, but my boat still won't sail,  not far enough

no- i won't use an ore, i don't want a motor, and i refuse to call for help, yes- i like being stuck here, with no sails, no-movement, just afloat, in shallow tears, for as long as it takes

yes- my boat could sink, and yes- what a shame, but no- i don't care, i can't, it's too late

yes- the path is the right one, the captain is steering correctly, but no- the weather conditions are wrong; rain, wind, snow, ice, the boat can't compete against evil forces of nature

alas i've lost count of the yes' because that's just how it goes.
instead i'm stuck in the dead end waters of no, no, no, surprisingly though i know i don't belong, i like it, because like a painful bruise, it feels good to apply pressure where it hurts, to make sure i'm alive. i am alive arn't i? yes? no?

maybe

enough

Trying to please Attempting to appease
Faking a smile
Going the extra mile

But none of it brings me that which I long,
Nor does it save the world.
So what's the point? Why pretend?

While some feign caring,
I'm forced to grin and bare,
But why keep up the charade when everyone knows there will be no winner?
There is no triumph in the superficial Olympics
No golden trophy to be won. 
Just losers, a lot of them,
some lamer than others but nonetheless insignificant.

Who decides when enough's enough?
What's appropriate? WHY DO I CARE?
Where to draw the line?
It's never been up to me, I've always been a mere puppet.

But I'm going to cut the strings,
All of them,
One by one.
Because that which made me happy is beyond the reach of these strings,
And if I don't cut them off now,
I'll always be just part of a puppet show.

Tragic