YOU NAME IT

A BRIEF INTRODUCTION

They say it's always hard taking the first steps of something. Creation is an art, but we all have got hopes and certain abilities that differ us, cause and effect.

They differ us, but we're somehow oddly similar.

Perfection in the middle eastern philosophy can be described as the phenomenon achieved when we mix interests and skills together with a bit of endurance...maybe hope, and a whole lot of luck.

There are times when one feels truly lost, but then the handy option known as "Instincts" is activated. Though one can't help but wonder, is this the "Way"?

Mankind loves to have their mysteries and mental cluster fucks answered, but are satisfied with the poorest of explanations, or are they?

Or is this the act of oblivion, just to satisfy and comfort? You can find examples in your day to day life.

And now I didn't mean to ask these many questions, but you can get really lost contemplating life, thinking about the true meaning of matters that our lives revolve around.

Makes you question absolutely everything, like everythinggggg. Even the simplest of questions. Like the difference between kids and the elderly, the true origin of the universe, or when you get freaked out on a Friday night, in the middle of a make out session by a tiny benign spider, and you demand your boyfriend to kill it instantly, how's that different from taking the lives of our so beloved pets? But no one is bold enough to answer these questions, or it just feels like there's more into it...

And when you can't answer these questions you just feel as if a divine monster is choking you with its gigantic hands, and you feel so desperate for answers yet remain ever-defeated in trying to reach some, that you rather opt out. Be it gravitates you, that strive for perfection.

And if anyone denies it, they're (Enter apology) hypocrite assholes. Sarcasm has always been my strongest suit, humor hasn't.

But does this make me an artist? Putting my pen on the sheet and letting it run across the paper? Does this qualify as art nowadays?

Did I create this, or was I born with it? Have I had a choice in this or has it been mere luck?

Sometimes I start to think about weird stuff, it feels like I enter another dimension, I wonder about things that are a 100 percent certainty for others, sometimes the world is as vague as it is clear.

Just like someone in an awesome trilogy once (Or multiple times) said: "Somethings change, but some don't". Why does everything change? Feels like I'm on strings on a puppet show, controlled by a humorous being, making it as if he hates me, to watch me ache in this circle of thoughts of mine. And then he suddenly wanders off and lets go (Maybe he has matters to attend to, maybe acquiring those virgins in heaven, who am I to judge?) and I fall and lose hope and look at the window, but he just comes back and picks me up and indulges me in this great mess, and I gain hope again. Well what can you do about it?

Have you ever gone on a rage trying to impress the people around you, and a second after that sudden outburst of urge for admiration, you've withdrawn yourself from the public, scared of the imminent disclosure of the ugliness inside of you? Your goal being "endless efforts of maintaining a very at least decent impression on others".

Or is it just me?!

(TO BE CONTINUED)