Monday, March 7, 2011

i think hope

I've been consumed lately with a thirst for real. I gasp for it like a fish gasps for water. I want for it to roll over my pores so I can breathe. And I don't know what it means exactly but I know that there isn't enough of it. Instead it seems that real is a condition that isolates and makes one an outsider in a society based on appearances. Have you felt this silent tragedy in the every day? People caring too much about the wrong things and not nearly enough about the right ones. It's like gravity has been overthrown and everybody's priorities have gotten all mixed up. The formalities, the judgment; the pretension, the artificiality. Popularity. Money. Status. What does any of it matter? Airs. What is the need for them? The only air I believe in is the nature that sustains us.

"I like a look of Agony,
Because I know it's true"
-Emily Dickinson

But when I plug my ears with melodies that have soul, that resurrect pain once felt, I know it exists. It exists in the people that I surround myself with. It exists in art. In words. In silence.

I just want more of it. More smiles. Real smiles. Real laughter. I want Pink Floyd to ring through everyone's hearts. "Strangers passing in the street, by chance two separate glances meet, and I am you and what I see is me." Yes, in the street I want that hey stranger, we are one and the same. Want to see the message placating the features of the passersby.

People either laugh at hippies, or try to dress like them, but it is the truths in the original hippie philosophies that should be reinstated. I still believe in the dream.

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