Unlike Myself

(”fuck that, tell them bitches I’m a top dog”)

Heh, parents are the real last borns cos they had to stop growing up until y'all were done.

“Can’t take the kid from the fight - take the fight from the kid.”

On the democratisation of the self: Remember the mob is cruel and only concerned with the wind. The wind has been following the same patterns since the first flap of a butterflies wings ten ages ago across the galaxy.  You, in comparison, while eternal, only have memory of the last few decades - and may only feasibly make it through to a century. Your time is a drop in comparison to the wave that drives the wind that fuels the mob.  Why would you try and change the inevitable? And, in trying, why would you be surprised when your destruction was the only logical outcome? 

 Big moments and big emotions sink in slowly. The slow excruciation of loss is a a repeated prick every time you reach for the idea and find absence. Sometimes you do your best and it isn’t enough. Sometimes you give it all you got - and it still demands more. When this happens it’s back to the drawing board, to ask ourselves again - how do we make more? 

Also, profound and confound are not opposites - and neither of these words have anything to do with finding things. 

Eventually we make peace with the fact that we are miserable because we are here, on earth. That the act of birth took away our agency and, now that we’re here we are bound to continue with the act of living. We realise that our anger and frustration had little do with the environment and the people in it. That no one ever did anything to evoke the melancholy. That our rage is neither geopolitical, nor is it against the machine. That, instead, it is against this idea that we have to participate in the charade of life at all.  Eventually we recognise this sadness in ourselves in others and realise that we’re all just plodding along forward, finding ways to keep ourselves busy and distracted from the fact that we are miserable because we are here. At an random location in an infinite universe for a finite amount of time. And, in knowing that it is the same despair that we flee, then you will learn to participate in the distracting. That you will finally lend a genuine hand  out of no other reason other than because a hand must be lent. That you will include yourself once more in ritual because it is what we do, and it is what we do because it is how we keep our eyes turned away from what we have seen and are tired of looking at. 

“What do you know if you learn every day?”

Conceptualisation is the strangest part of the creative process. The rest is just process. Ideas, however, no one really knows where they come from or how to consistently bring them forth – no matter what they tell you. Ideas are a by product of dwelling with and living with information, holding it to multiple lights in a bid to learn something or see something. Yet the something being searched for is not known because otherwise there would be nothing to search for. In this way idea making is a game of patience both with self and with other. A game of watching, waiting and turning. A game of trusting that everything has something to show you if you take the time to look. 

(i got the shit you could play for the hoes)

Ideas.