Intellect is potential. It is the passive portion of what makes up the concept of "Intelligence". Wisdom, however, is putting intellect and knowledge to action. Now, all of this applies to the wonderfully massive experience we call life, but.. Well, the funny thing about life is, Life is a sack of hamburgers. How you eat them, how you ration them out, whether you share them, or just let them go bad just sitting in the sack is up to you. They're your hamburgers, but something has to happen to them.
No idea what I'm writing but it feels good to put honest opinions down ^~^ Right now I'm just brainstorming so if you'd like to throw your opinion in, I'd love to hear it ^~^
I used to think that colors were my friends. The same can be said of lines. In my room I could close my eyes and an explosion of beautiful colored lines would sprawl across my room and create my own mental tapestry. Imagination. We used to think the lines would zig-zag, dart across the canvas, spiral out of control over in this pool of creativity, and eventually end up in some other painting. As a child you were free to follow your sporadic lines no matter which direction they took you. It did not matter if you were inside your room or outside in the world with all the other kids, darting around, spiraling about, and not thinking twice about who's canvas you're on. No boundaries. The child's mind truly is a beautiful thing, no? As you progress through life these lines tend to follow whatever path you take. Since you're the one that draws them. Through years of shaping they slowly thin out and inevitably go straight. Eventually the colors drop, and you're left with black and white. One line. Two colors. Welcome to adulthood. Your lines are becoming a permanent part of yourself. OH NO! Conformity! This is what all those goth and punk kids warned me about in high school! Faggots. But now you're an adult. Everything is supposed to be in order. Bullshit. Most of your adult life is spent seeking love. Oh love, lovely lovely loving lovey dovey love. It's an emotion secreted from the deepest bowels of your brain. And I say bowels because most of the love you experience is shit. Especially when you're young. Outside of your room your lines keep you safe. They're the lines you've established for yourself. The black and white becomes your friend, and your safety. You follow your chosen line in your chosen direction, but love only serves to create intersections in your line. Love is tricky
