“Society is a playwright so proud of his work that even the slightest deviation from the script drives him to retaliate with the force of a natural disaster, judging blindly and killing all in his path.” — Tommy MaverickMy Productions
So, what do you think about my buddy? haha I think he fucking rocks. RAPPER!!!! :)
I don’t know if this is an accurate description for everyone, but sometimes when ideas come to mind, the kind of ideas that are unlike anything I’ve ever heard of before, it feels as if they are whispered to me from some kind of voice. As if the idea itself is a gift… Something that has always existed, maybe represented symbolically in the world around me, but never in it’s final form… Never in English, never in a waveform… It’s always been there, but suddenly, I see it so clearly and vividly. As if the idea is spoken directly to me… Freely… “Do with it what you will.” My ideas feel as if they come to me in a language that I could never learn, but have always understood. I have to translate them to bring them into this world… If I don’t, they’ll fade. If I don’t, I’ll lose them, and so will the world. Maybe our ideas are just interpretations of the Universe’s language, the Language of Creation?
They’re all fictional.
I feel like I have nothing left inside of me… I can’t really put it into words how empty I feel every day. I feel stagnant and lost and maybe a little bit broken. Maybe I’ve done this to myself, putting value in things that I cannot control, but I guess I’ll just keep on living.
The show must go on.