My thoughts are fragmented, chopped up, though not necessarily asinine as I race to get them down on paper. Don’t lose it, don’t lose it. I cling to sentences loosely strung together in my head as they slip away and i’m left with mediocre phrasing that doesn’t quite make sense when you only read it once but that’s okay.
I get it.
That’s the point.
It must be misunderstood to be understood.
The idea of sitting in a dusty dimlit pub, slowly drowning the night in whisky as me and the stranger, wearing a worn leather jacket with rough stubble creating a shadow on his jawline, discover the meaning of life only to forget it come the following morning and have a headache take the place of the answer to an eternal question appeals to me.
I want to understand the world in a deeper sense, at a greater depth. Nothing is black and white, though people speak of life in a very two toned manner but there has to be more. However, in such a secular society I do not want to risk further disenchantment by solving life’s enigmas, be it on a micro scale or not. There needs to be mystery – something for us to chase. But at the same time, in this age, we are searching for salvation in anything and everything that elicits reaction. We rely on drugs, girls, boys, music, sex, alcohol, religion and the notion of love to bring us comfort when the weight of life gets a little too much and our visions are blurred – distorted.