I think we forget how inherently strange this world is. We fabricate realities for ourselves, realities that fail to quench our unrelenting compulsion to discover and create. As said by him, her, and everyone -- we’re all a little mad inside. It’s this wee thrum of madness that keeps humanity constantly reeling forward on the evolutionary ladder, and this constant churning that leaves us in a mild haze, wondering dimly if stumbling through our tired minds is what we ought to do in order to matter.
Somewhere along the line we declare ourselves qualified to judge this world and others, and then judge those who do the same. We’re all unintentional hypocrites mired into the maelstrom of unflinching reality. I think we have to submit to judgments because without them we don’t exist; we have no substance. Despite this understanding, a part of me has qualms with the idea of nothing ever being impartial with us. I know I’m a hypocrite as well. That’s the fun of it. There exists a silent grief. Contained within a falling leaf. Departing from the mother tree. Another fading memory. A melancholy dance in air. Pirouettes for added flare. Sun rays reach to kiss goodbye. A kiss and dance before it dies. The leaf subsided in the light of dawn and then it’s gone. This season let’s focus on being there for one another, by going the extra mile to help someone in need. Show everyone what this country has to offer and in return you’ll be rewarded.