What I Felt

Just emotions and no facts.

  I had just seen one of the most displeasing parts of highly civilized societies. As the fact in itself does not resemble the reason for writing this paper but rather my sad emotions towards it are driving me towards this activity, I will not mention what fact I am talking about. Moreover, I may like at this point for the reader to bear in mind their own association to the description above (and not the fact), for I would rather inflict a sensibility concerning the emotional relationship between mind and heart rather than the one concerned with facts. I deem myself entitled to state affirmations related to my own experience rather than reflect in writing on those which I still feel quite abstract, even if for some, reading books seems more factual than any empirical evidence. I, however, have always, or at least since the time that I can remember, been inclined to unconsciously allow more fascination for that before my eyes in the detriment of that before my eyes which someone else created.  This little whimsical piece of writing can be interpreted as poetry in prose and not prose poetry as the emotions, and once again not the facts, are stated in a rather day to day vocabulary or manner, as if I was talking for the crowd and not just to myself.

To cut it straight to the point, I am not creating, especially not in this moment, within any particular intentional frame; the opposite, and not the antonym, to that being a pure release of freedom which, for some time that many may call a human’s life, has been severely caged in a space that unfortunately belonged to me no more. What I personally find more tragic than not knowing is guessing and the one responsible for feeding me through the metal bars could have been you, yours, or literally anyone else. Allowing myself to fall into the pit that others dug for me is a matter of oscillating between love and fear; not only did another soul cover the transition between my dream and my reality, but also my inner self could only hover around the imagination of a brain which belonged to anyone else but mine.  I am only assuming that this is the reason why I find myself in the position of presenting such a weakness in front of the unknown. I felt not strong enough to convince the unknown to know me. Is it that bad?

Many ugly faces have shown themselves before my eyes and the same ugly faces became even more ugly after I had changed my T-Shirt. Interestingly enough, I think I have deep knowledge about my opinion about these faces, which again did not belong to me, but I am diagonally unsure which T-Shirt I like to see myself in, this or that. At least, considering my scarce capacity of instigating useful thinking, I can say that the particle behind the sentence aforementioned hides nothing more nor less than the fact that I need to gain control over the manner in which people’s eyes shine, or not, whenever they see me. My will for power manifests itself in the more unnatural ways I have personally been willing to witness. I present no interest for that which comes easy, nor interest to spread my wing around it, yet I have, with time, gained strict levels of respect for one beautiful kingdom. Not many have shown themselves to me yet. I want them to shout my name and applaud at my show.

What do you think?