Sometimes, we try to make things so perfect. That ever minute detail must be coupled with minute rhythmic precision deployment. Can’t we be allowed to improvise, to not follow time signatures of destiny but instead, crush the predetermined music sheet of life, throw it away and allow fluctuations of error.
Neverminds the consequences, at least, at least, it’s of truth, of the external embodiment of the internal latitudes of emotions. But as such, there’s no such thing, the forces of reality pushes me with much glee into compartmentalization of utter surrenderence to it.
Hence the peripheral question arises? Why go against the conducting flicks of the maestro of destiny called reality? Why make him angry by intervolving and interchanging beats of 1 and 3 with 2 and 4.
Why even try?
Well, one has tried, yet the constant bellowing of reality makes me want to leave the whole orchestra of life itself cause there can be found no satisfaction in both the congruence nor intervallic.
Saturday, February 9
R: Going Against
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