To create.

Why do I want to create? What is it that runs through my veins and drops vibrant rhythms and wells pools of colour. Burgundy, indigo, ochre. Electric. It’s more than just cells and plasma. Sometimes I get so frustrated because I feel I’m unable to unleash the things that drive my spirit in a significant way.

I suppose it is purpose I’m looking for. To use my faculties to mould something new. I don’t believe I’m here for a humdrum existence. I don’t believe any of us are here for such things. It just happens that we let ourselves believe the lie that brilliance is an exception. The ‘brilliance’ that does end up on the pedestal is nothing but a farce anyway. Life isn’t supposed to be lived within a plaster cast. Even if the cast is covered with distracting little notes and pictures. It’s for running. It’s for heavy breathing. The stuff that saturates the lungs in oxygen.

I don’t want to get lost to the hospital institution of Western ways. The lunatics of normality. The straightjackets of inconspicuous submission. To strive for such things is lost time.

I want to create…