warm up

warm up

I wonder what I'm doing wrong? I can't imagine myself living a normal life for some reason. I wonder if it will just come by so fast that I won't have time to find my niche. I live in a generation of mediocrity, where everyone is satisfied with what they have. Doesn't human perception reach out a bit farther than that? These eyes, were they only made to see less than majestic sights? These hands, were they made to build less that the greatest? So why am I less than the best, or less than what I want to be?
They say you can become anything, or anyone you want to be if you put your mind to it. I think thst rather than putting your mind on it, I need to take my eyes off everything else and go all in on what I have to go for. My friends, we will part for college soon, a place where there is no excuse for becoming exactly what you want to become.
If it's all or nothing, then go all, and don't ever settle for just half of the stakes. High risk, high reward, that how the stakes work. It's not as if I have much to risk anyways if I'm not made of anything in the first place. So don't think why, think why not, and perhaps I'll see these walls turn into doors.

[momentum picking up.. at the brink of what it seems to be: inspiration..]

It is lost upon our generation to look past the futility of all that encompasses everything and all that we do. We find ourselves drowning, and in that near apparent death, nothing comes off more pleasing than death itself. Lack of oxygen, like the abundance of oxygen, gives one a euphoria, as if they actually believe that they are happy. What's more is that at one point, most people stop fighting the inevitable, and simply wait.

Our generation struggles to keep everything but mediocrity at bay, hiding the insane asylums, locking the criminals in prisons, subduing the drunkards, and suppressing the geniuses. The relentless tyranny of the mediocre majority rules. They tell me, relax my muscles, the pain will be over soon; let it breathe, to put that gun to my intellectual mind, and hear the click. It will be the last sound I will ever hear, the last pain I will ever feel. “Doesn’t it feel good to ride the wave?” they will tell me, and like a simpleton, I will reply, “Splendid, sir, absolutely splendid.” And a quiet smile will escape my face and I will just melt in, happy.
I call a toast to the advent of success. Let us drink, drink, from the poison of mediocrity! Put your glasses in the air, and let us drink. And with feverish rage, we shall all indulge in our drunker and abolish all creativity, disguised in ingenuity, art, or genius.
As if there is any sense of tolerance, any sense of intellectual range. These people: to mediocrity, may it be served mediocrity. For the time being, I’ll play along, but when the time comes, I will take over like a thief in the night. It will be proper, it will be sane, and it will be accepted.
Must the curtains close for the applause to ring?
No, I am not a genius, perhaps not even close, but it takes one to realize that there is something wrong with everything that we do, everything that we break our back for and strive for. The 'feverish rage' that sparks with wrong intentions and shortsighted visions is like a bright flame that burns out only after a couple of seconds. Why can't I take a stand for what I believe in? It's almost as if I'm lost in the sophistry of success as well.

It's a pity that my thinking relies on the inspiration of momentous words, some which carry no weight of meaning at all. I once read that Mozart was constantly thinking, reflecting, and seeing his work in sounds that resonated throughout the day. In that sense, he didn't rely on what most artists today rely on: inspiration. Every moment for him was an inspiration. Perhaps I can be more like him.

Also, I will probably die early. Not in any pessimistic sense, but that's how you solidify a legacy. Just kidding.. But just maybe, I don't see myself growing up, at least not in any mental sense.