there is a difference between outside art
and interior art … between behaviors here and behaviors there … between evolved
features and dormant features. I feel truth as it hits. I live detached from
self, others, remaining compassionate. winds tickle, trample, to wrangle a
withering fig—more detached, more compassion, being normal is removed from an
ideal of normality. it clashes with
understanding, the ideal versus the actual essence—with something unnatural
taking precedence. consensus says
humans should be alike, under one umbrella, with most, environments take
control. one has normality, as
defined, another has dysfunction, as defined, they, by nature-nurture, cannot
be alike. most are hereby separated,
not necessarily, with disvalue, just sensing different realities—and therefore
responding differently to stimuli. I live
in seriousness—watching as images float by—realizing, some element is different
in selves. others live needing innocence, not qualifying innocence, with
disappointment lingering inside. anguish, pain, life, all the above—I must
reexamine.
