Lately, wherever I go, people are running amok like chickens with their heads severed.
The exasperation, the anxiety, and the nervous energies seems to have afflicted the afflicted. Everybody is inundated with the false sense of validation by who screams the loudest in the introverted utopia of the interweb pipes. It’s a race to see who can type the fastest, discover the things out there being fed into a pool of popularity. A sea of imagery, animated gifs, mimes, animated mimes, what have you until you’re high strung, burnt out, fizzled, drowning in a mock of meaninglessness. The quagmire of competition for no reason other than to prove to the world you simply exist. Congradz, you really are, you really do.
For as much people stress individuality and uniqueness, everybody looks to the next person for answers, for validation, for sense of style, purpose, and emotional support, like a crack addict of sorts. These very beings never look internally, they overlook their own senses, their own resources and thus, answers they seek in external sources.
The hotbed of mess in the online world is exactly that, a sea of variables you can drown in. Suddenly nobody can be a good writer, a great artist, a gifted talented artist because they’re too busy comparing and contrasting with wannabe’s who promote themselves as such already. People who’ve drunk enough delusional coolaid and binged on one too many reality tv shows. I’m not saying some of them aren’t talented, but we can’t and shouldn’t use them as a benchmark for success. For how can anybody be an artist when Van Gogh existed, when Picasso was. See we probably never shall replicate or elevate beyond those masters of the craft, nor should we try. Perfectionism is simply the culmination of having tried despite the odds of never succeeding, or against the diatribe of our greatest haters.
we find richness of poetry in the innards of our own selves, through much suffering and triumph. Not the fake half sincere flattery of others. I might write poetry that jars and compels, and I might write vulgar trash the next day. All because I hadn’t had sufficient caffeine, or had to pay an unexpected bill, or just really need a back massage (I do).
We must all push ourselves greatly toward the intangible artistry of our core essence, not find excuses to debunk it, to negate strengths. Go read strength finder 2.0. Or, read this :
none of us can live up to our own standards much less the standards of the world and the standards of long dead masters. They existed in a world that enabled them to flourish, and not without adversity and opposition. Some went through hell, others avoided it, and some made heaven out of hell. It’s all about perspective, attitude, and digging deep when your well runs dry.