never mind me, talk amongst yourself - it's only the two of us here, and you've got a mobile phone to attend to - never mind, i came here to be alone - your lounge room littered with cliches - life imitating soap-operas - your transparent life that moves amongst the shallow light of camp-fire sing-a-longs, of friends with no idea sharing their shallow thoughts to fill your gaping hole with a pat on the back - it's really good - when sincerity is a novelty, something of a surprise, i back away and linger in the corner and let those who need to speak, speak - and those who need to speak back, speak back - advertised art fizzling out like a hot-box of matches - i planted a seedling and told no-body - the rest, the anonymous screens of millions behind self-appointed nicknames spitting their well-thought thoughts to anyone who will read and move on to their own selfish, pathetic grab for recognition - a generation of anonymous lovers making love to themselves - in their own little head-space, via organic nature of robocop, ignoring the world around them but clawing at each other in a desperate attempt to be seen - to be first - to have been there - to have the right interests - to make something out of the pure-nature of what the pure-souls found with dignity! - with purpose and care! - with a pure intent - not to be made into someone everyone can see and access with the click of a button from your pants - the sickness and silent stare from the corner, where im shoved aside as the world make advertisements of my friends and those around me - where the best things in life are shared without the world knowing about them - the best days of my life unknown to a soul but mine that of my god alone - my thoughts being mine, my opinions being mine - you don't change the world with opinions - you change the world with the rhythms that come as a result of your own personal opinions, if your ever lucky to find any that come filtered from your subconscious thoughts and movements - allow yourself to be alone - allow yourself to feel as sad miserable as this world makes you - but they dont - everybody is searching for a solution as to why they aren't living the life they want to live - searching for a way to cure this beautiful eternal sadness that is this world and that comes from all art and purity and divinity - i picture the earth, it's white and light blue marble twirls, drifting alone in space - all it's achievements - and mistakes - it's old age and it's naive youth in comparison to it's older sun and stars and brothers and sisters - and it's a perfect example of a beautiful, perfect, sadness - this world, the greatest work of art being mankind itself, doomed from the day it was born just like every single little contributor and collaborator, and artist who played their role - it's beautiful and it's sad, and it's nothing to be afraid of - just like your whole life, every little problem you have and will ever have, will one day be completely forgotten - everyone you know will be gone and forgotten, blah blah blah - they'll be shunned into the corner so those who still think their lives, thoughts, opinions and art actually mean anything in the split second it takes their lives to come and go - those still running from their fear of sadness pretend to be happy without ever knowing why - movies seen and books read as though they were weapons against those who haven't - as opposed to a quiet suggestion to those who, just might, be interested - to understand that not everyone who needs my opinion needs yours - to understand that your trip can never be anyone elses and your confusion as to why they're not buying the ticket is your downfall until you realise that all this is simply for yourself - it's not yours to push and provoke onto others - it's not yours to push onto others so that you can feel like god - so that you can feel like the writer, the director, the painter - it's not yours so that you can feel like the first - to say you were there means nothing if you didn't know why - i sink back into the corner, pushed aside by the best minds of my generation who have turned themselves into wankers, loving themselves and turning their lives into little one-line commercials advertising their post-art lives to the anonymous electrodes despite the fact i've come here in person to visit and talk to them - to live this life by myself and with the people i find and see around me - i do this before i die, so that when i will, i'll have at the very least, lived my life and shared it with those who have lived theirs - those not so preoccupied in a feeble attempt to have everything remembered, and to have themselves known by strangers - to have it known by the absent who are mostly likely too busy living theirs, or replicating their own commercials and having them also sent back like two parallel worlds competing for their own implosions
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