Manifesta Musica

I don't have plans. I don't have a direction. I pity the thought of education being solely for one's career. I detest the thought of being another brick in the corporate pyramid scheme. That goes for the military as well. Money disgusts me, reminds me of blood, the way people suck it out of you and bleed you dry. People will kill eachother for it. They will take it from their spouses by divorcing when the wealth has accumulated. The need for money has replaced the struggle for food; While people are getting fat on excesses of sugar and carbs, they worry about subtle changes in oil prices. Tell me one fucking part of this game matters. Do it, argue your heart out. I disagree.

I was born in love, infused with it. It is my strength. It is raw, overwhelming, pure, perfect, and unmovable.
I don't need God to save me from misanthropy. This love is real. No person, male or female, can revoke this feeling inside of me. Not through sex, affection, gifts, guilt, or hatred. Two empty people searching eachother out, trying to fill holes their parents left. Women want the strength and confidence of their fathers, and will go to great lengths for a man who maintains such a facade. Men want the beauty and affection of their young mothers, and will let themselves be leashed like dogs to get it. And if those aren't the driving factors behind men and women talking to eachother, then it's getting laid. Sure, the girl plays it coy, the boy plays it smooth, and it's all blatantly obvious to anyone not fueled by hormones. What happened to communication? Honesty? Why do we have to figure out arbitrary body language and decode obscure subtle hints? Fuck that.

I appreciate the intimacy and passion shared in sex. The euphoria of fingers gently dragging across skin, kisses so soft ones entire body begins to spark, tongues stroking as if to briefly converse. It's the reason estranged encounters can't cut it. Even the rush of mastering someone, putting them in their "place" has its gratifying sensations, but most men and women settle for "suck muh dick and I'll fuck you on your back." What a crock. Where's the creativity? Why are men so lazy with foreplay, and why are women so lazy in actual intercourse? Or vice-versa; because apparently "gender" has nothing to do with "sex," and a male can be a "woman" and a female can be a "man." It's not even important. We're people. We don't need "genders" to feel secure about our habits and personality. The male libido wears off 3 seconds after ejaculation, and the female libido wears off as soon as her dream guy stops being so cool and mysterious. And both libidos wear off when it becomes the same shit every day. Different sexual needs become more important than friendship or companionship, regardless of whatever "feelings" two people insincerely fashion.

So here I am, 20, no longer compelled by wealth and relationships. I've saved myself about 20 more years of bullshit. For most people, a world not centered on sex and money would seem counterproductive. But I have other yearnings. Strong emotions tip me over the edge at night when I'm staring at the ceiling. Dancing flames, lighting equalizing, waves crashing and rippling, silhouettes of trees flickering with the wind. Sounds flood my soul and for two brief hours I am content, alone in the dark. Abstract images disintegrate into specs and waves as my imagination and logic tandem analyze nature's motivation with reality's fabric. The Universe and all of its inhabitants share one common desire; to exist. To defy non-existence. To grow and one day fill this overwhelming empty vacuum that surrounds us. This absurd notion of reality is only balanced by the paradox of observation. The deeper we look into our surroundings, the less we see. Emptiness is pervasive, and these clear vibrant memories we hold dear are nothing more than darkness smeared with infinitely small sub-existing particles.

My concepts of right and wrong have drastically changed over the years. Life is not random, it is pragmatic. Chaos and choice serve as filler for actual explanations of being. Things are the way they are because they had to be, and thus the world is innocent, as are its dwellers. You wish to cast blame, dissociate from what is "wrong," and objectify facets of nature as evil. Look at yourself. Somewhere down the line your ancestors have raped, murdered, and stolen. Yet here you are, fighting evil, when you are nothing but its manifestation. If you were lucky enough to descend from a long line of "good people," I assure you they were savage at some point.

There is nothing this world needs rid of. I have no desire to wipe the planet clean of its terrorists, tyrants, and politicians. They are to be remembered for what they were. They are necessary, for without them true peace can never be realized.

I have thoughts. They are all I wish to possess. Their unfolding is my entertainment. Their growth is my satisfied wallet. Their expression is my passionate relief. When I have secured my thoughts from all sides, that's when I'll hit the stage. It's where I belong, it's what I crave above all else. I didn't know myself until recently; which is a bitter shame - I am my best friend, and no one makes me happier.