The Crazy and The Sane When did crazy love become a “sane resignation”? When did gentlemen; heroes and noblemen become simple diplomats? When did passionate lovers become disposable? Where has the idea of the fighting soldier with swords and shields gone? Why when things get dark we choose to resign to the idea of “It’s just not our time” Where is the excitement? Where is the gorgeous conflict, the thrill of fighting for the impossible, the virtue of conquering fear and the agonizing past? When did we choose to become lazy and discreet? Why has the tragic and romantic love abandoned us? Why do we now believe that maturity relies on surrendering to difficulties and misunderstandings instead of fighting for our feelings and true believes? When did having passionate thoughts become a shameful and childish attitude? Aren’t we allowed anymore to feel pain, grief, happiness, anger, and passion? Aren’t we allowed to crave for some innocent revenge? When did love become so boring? When did pain become so frowned upon? When did we choose to wash our brains and hearts with the idea of “it wasn’t destined for me” “We weren’t meant to be together” “I can do better”? Why can’t we even fight anymore, why do we must quiet our screaming and drown it into a cautious and restrained silence? Doesn’t anybody suffer for love anymore? Doesn’t anybody laugh for love anymore? Does everyone simply accept defeat in a reasonable way? When did we all become so computerized? When did a passionate caress mutate as simple politeness? Doesn’t it hurt anymore to not be loved in returned? When did we become so cold, so proper, so tedious? Let us all be perfect, let the imagination die on us, let the little kid inside us grow up, because we are so proper and so tedious, because we are so mature. Aren’t we all? When did value of beauty and art become a simple “Facebook Like” as if it would feed the artist or completely justify his honest work? When did a piece of art become a simple speech of a Politian? Where are the dirty, painted, virtuous, conflicted souls longing to speak their minds? Are there any left? Where do the eager, honest and tragic artist work and for whom do they work nowadays? Have we truly become this shameful, this flat, and this simple? Must we accept every horrible and also beautiful thing that happens to us with no pleasure what so ever? Shouldn’t we just accept the fact that we are automatons, motor less machines, simple rotten potatoes longing to feed the hungry and desperate with our rotten souls, expecting them to be satisfied and pleased with how little and sour we can offer. And this is how it will be if we continue to choose our “sane resignation” over our crazy devoted love.
Posted on: Wed, 25 Sep 2013 02:16:22 +0000
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