ryborg

3:00am, and I am compelled to write my thoughts.

I sometimes struggle to discern if it is the world that has gone mad or myself. It feels as if there is a vast and vague disturbance in the world. Maybe it is the simple longing of my own heart, manipulating and contorting my perception of the outer world – my own utter horror and confusion. It seems as if everything is built around an unstable fantasy, and that nothing is real, and that when you look closely at something, it falls apart into absurdity. Some days it lashes out at me, and like a moronic, furious child I lash helplessly back out at it, no longer of my own mind, but rather fully outside of it. I hope that somehow my anger will cause a tiny ripple, and that something, somewhere, will be altered because of it. In a far off place, a tiny twitch will occur which will create an avalanche. But in no time at all, the act is swallowed, and entropy returns. Minds more subtle than my own laugh at me, and see me for the fool that I am. And though I dare not admit it, I see myself for the fool that I am. Despite my thrashing everything settles and quiets, and I am left only with my helplessness. Yet even in the midst of this admission, there is a part of me that thrills with glee. Mad though I may be, at least I have the honesty to thrash like a fool. To yell in a fit of meaningless rage. How sad it is that we are made to suppress and hide our madness – to fear our own discordant thoughts. Fool though I may be, I cannot help but wonder if I am not blessed. Blessed by my own madness. It is the thing I fear the most, and yet it seems as if it is the very thing which will set me free. It is the means through which all my happiness will be discovered. So madness it is. It is here to stay.

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Solve two problems at once. Feed the homeless to the hungry.