The best time to think is when everyone else around you seems to refuse to.
The night is the perfect ambiance for those that have a certain romantic darkness within them. This merging of literal and figurative black is what consumes the individual and connects its digested remains to the cosmic stream of consciousness. To the collective thinking of humanity.
He/she grows from a whisper in time to an echo that builds or shatters mountains of matter. Of information. Ephemeral as it may be, power can be gained. Change is possible. Isn't it?
I myself sometimes doubt it. But in truth, I doubt myself. Or my capability of bringing change into existence. I feel surrounded by malign thoughts and behavior. Destructive in its passivity. Disgusting in its violence with which opposes change tho' claiming to desire it's arrival.
Now more than ever, I feel like the worm. Condemned to eternal youth, confined within its irrational state. Impotent. Insecure. Indulgent. Soulful in a soulless way.
I must transcend yet I feel that my environment only helps perpetuate my larvae state. It keeps me warm, comfortable, satisfied. It glues my lids and lips together and sews a cocoon of sufficiency around me. It does not allow me to die. To sacrifice anything for anything. Perhaps this is the hardest state for man to conquer. To rebel against a falsified libido, a full stomach, warm housing. Against comfort and content.
I have numbered 25 years. I have seen empires rising and falling overseas. The objects of my adoration turned meager and irrelevant. Until there was nothing to do but marvel at the beauty of decay without pausing for a second to observe it crawling upon me. At times I fear that I have grown perfectly into the costume, the shape that they have made for me, in the same manner square watermelons are grown.
Still, there is a whole spectrum of light inside my head. If only I could break or at least crack this diamond hard skull. One tiny little opening and the world would feel the Light in Extension.
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