Getting back to what makes me…..
Yes, I will get back to what makes me, I will start drawing again, and I will come back jotting my feelings to make a poem and read it to my “juice poetry” hang out.
I always thought of people who have artistic talents and then leave it all behind; behind the office doors, hide it underneath their fast-past life, below the sound waves of the car beeps, alarm clock sounds, and the traffic jam, to bottom it down to eclipse their fears, insecurities, sadness and any tranquil, mushy feelings to create the façade, of a fixed, motionless, emotionless stern face, confident on the outside, to convince the inside, that they are tough enough to go on with life, and to be further convinced of the routine that life at many points stipulates.
Why abandon art, especially if that person is already an artist in the inside, does life put us in a cycle to makes us more insensitive; insensitive in here, I mean, insensitive to the feelings that we think may make us week and not strong, like the urge to cry over someone’s else shoulder, I do not think a CEO would do such thing at least potentially, given his status, because he is responsible, people are leaning over him, then, why responsibility needs toughness… why the world can not go into a crying session to express our sorrow, sadness, or why can’t the whole world contemplate on what makes us as a whole human race happy, why do people push these feelings aside, is it because they may might not make us tough, we all dream of the far away island paradise, all if not most us are bunch of hippies at the inside, why go on with more pragmatism and forget, the lush scent of roses, why judge dreamers of naivety, why respect concrete, cement, cleaning detergents, car engines, interviews, grass mowers, resumes, and all the bla stuff, and forget that we can sleep on the spongy clouds, swim in a sea of chocolate, and be musical rhythms, flying up and high reaching any melody we want to be, from Beethoven to my own musical beets when I am in love.
If we dare to dream, if we dared to touch the nerve to feel the feelings that have just passed on to our brain, we would be brave, we would know what we shall be able to do, the heart will know, no matter how much we are weak to succumb to “realism” thinking that holding one concrete brick over one fraction of felt hope, is nothing, and nothing but weakness and fear from doing what we ought to be, may romance be our virtue.
This is all pondering; I will get back resuming my endless job of finding a job.
But yeah, I would like to sleep on clouds, are they hhmmm made of cotton or something?
مكتوب # 25
6 years ago