we hail, we sail, away from land of the generics we may.

alienation, it has always been such a hilarious word. some may wonder of to what extend did their ancestors sin to deserve to be alienated. others just try laugh it off, shrugging off the pain. take it from a sixty year old man who lived most of them in the streets, as nessie is, it does not exist. but, those who up until now still have faith in this myth deserve to pat theirselves on the back. as these are those who fit the very definition of the bold. as most are bound to take a right as told, a left as told, straight ahead as told, letting others dictate their every turn along the road; they say no, pull their chins up high, and do as they believe. but there are limits to how much one could rebel, there is a force that could not tolerate or compromise. a force that pushes them up the road and move forward, denying their every request to stay put and stand still. so they nod and move forward and ask themselves; where to? tagging along with the generic, running around in circles, taking down the other road, the crappy road. meh. these options just does not suit them. so, between all confusion, they try to knock on everything they stumble upon; trees, rocks, air, ideals, lust, faith, even doors. ha. and after a devastating search of their destiny, there it was, the door to their own personal and ideal road. the only thing holding them back is that this door, this road, it is no more than a mere imagination. so there they are, standing in front of this imaginary road which none but one could see. the road which could only be taken by one being, as for others it has never been there. and then it came to them, the greatest  decision of their lives, to merely exist or to walk down in the realm of uncertainty and hope. as when one has chosen, he could never turn back. if one chose to walk down this imaginative road built up by their sub-consciousness, he would be obliged to walk. to wander around through a straight line, trying to reach the pot of gold at the end of the road. there they are, taking every step in loneliness as life has taken away their privilege to share, to communicate, to relate to others. others who by their very own definition would not understand, as once again none could see or even sense this road, this imaginary road. at one point, a thought would struck their minds. is a pot of gold really worth it? would wealth be the final purpose of life itself? or is there something else that is even more valuable to seek through life? and by this point, they lost faith upon gold and had to seek another purpose in life. so once again they came to a point in their lives where they could only knock, to look for another answer in the form of a door which lead to the road of purpose. this cycle, this vicious cycle, would voluntarily repeat itself, again, and again, and again. until those who have boldly dare to trespass the walls built up high by their generic fellows, would be lost in this field of despair. they would lose sense and the ability to differentiate time, length, direction, and most of all, purpose. they took the high road in favor of living in a subjectively proper manner, but in the end, they end up as the others. do not blame life for this, do not blame nature nor destiny, as we are no more than human. we are creatures that dwell upon high minded rhetorics, upon empty gestures. and for those who even try to defy their nature as human beings, it is to a hollow field you are all headed to. it is not that we were predestined to fail. the problem is just that once we see a blink of light to grasp purpose, once we take our first step on the right track, it is when the willingness and temptation to pat ourselves too much on the back appear. and it is to those feelings, straight up humanly human feelings, we lose.

BLAH.

mira vo rakhsash.

i’ve always pitied my childhood friends. i really have.

one wanted to be like old spidey. but mother nature told spiders all around the world to not lay a single finger on him. another friend dreamed to be the dark knight. well fifteen years later both his parents are still quite alive, more alive than him to be honest. had they been dead, let’s not forget the billionaire side of the story. moving on, one always wondered how it would feel to be the son of odin. silly, just silly, what a sick wish. a child that dreamed about being adopted by the parents he currently knew. it became even sicker when he found the tape of his father recording the process that denied all his dreams. i pity them. i do.

but God loves me, yes He does. i didn’t want to be a bigshot, i just wanted to be like hellboy. mister big red himself. and God loves me, yes He does. I grew up and He gave me a helluva set of sideburns.

BLAH.