gray

All people are gray matter. Shapeless, shifting, ever-changing blob of something they cannot define or begin to explain. Most people do not care at all nor do they realize what they are like. They’re too possessed by the world blinded by its dazzling lights and surround sound booming from their television sets or the quick scroll of text posing as comprehensible words and sentiments that actually mean nothing from a 2 inch screen oblivious to the pointlessness of it all. But then there are some who realize it and are afraid of this fact so try to fit themselves into shapes or imbue their lives with color, with vibrancy that quickly fades, some just to fit in, too not appear to be strange, to have their fake smiles and hollow laughs remain unquestioned. I’m probably one of those… no, that’s escaping again, I am one of those.

Ever heard the cliché on the bliss of ignorance? I used to scoff at that. Ignorance isn’t blissful or peaceful it’s just stupid (well, duh!) though I have found myself sometimes feeling strangely sad and envious of mentally incapable individuals (yeah, retards) that they don’t really need to wallow over the twisting philosophies of life. At times I feel like I’m too addicted to thinking that the reprieve of brain death is a very seductive state.

Anyway, I’m tired. Of trying to fit in or of faking amiability with the world when half the time all I want to do is poke fun on how stupid everything is. I’m staring at these snapshots on my corkboard of me and my office friends (yeah, I feel the need to categorize friends), those pictures with a centimeter of white space caging in our stupidly grinning faces. It’s a lot like life. We put ourselves inside well defined borders and patterns, one lined strain of thinking diverging only somewhat slightly from time to time but keeping within the road lines, toeing the line but mostly staying inside our self assumed and self imposed labels and definitions when all of these are just blank white spaces where the color could still seep through. We force ourselves to become ‘this’ or ‘that’ or ‘something’ or ‘anything’ when we could just ‘be’. We could end our sentences with prepositions and leave verbs without an object. We could seep through our imaginary cages and just blur the lines. I feel the need to rebel against something, against order, against well-formed observation, against conservative opinions, against racist or narrow minded judgment and it frustrates me to no end that no one really cares about this stuff… or they do and tag themselves as something again: left, right, radical, conservative, apathetic, enraged, annoyed, uncaring.

And I have absolutely no idea of what I’m saying.