Thursday, February 7, 2013
Illusion Like a weed
When I'm happy it seems I have less to write for some reason. Rabbits out of hats, ribbons out of sleeves, coins out of ears; Illusionist. I'm stubborn. I still refuse to stop believing the so-called impossible. When I think about it carefully, I've only heard what the rules of the world are from other people's mouths, and they've heard it from newspapers, and other people too. Why should I have to take anyone's word for anything? How can they say something is impossible, just because someone else says so, or because we all generally accept it to be true? That doesn't necessarily mean it's true for me. So I'll continue being stubborn. Like a weed.
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I totally agree with you. When I'm happy I don't have anything to write about. It makes me wonder if being happy isn't that great. It's like being happy is giving up the excitement. Like a old man content in his tiny cottage where nothing disturbs him.
ReplyDeleterandom thoughts :P
Perhaps, but I think that if we can learn to be happy, then we can possibly get as much as tenfold the amount of excitement we would've if we were sad. I'm just taking out a page of my own book, but usually when I'm sad, I become scared. And when I become scared, I let loose the opportunities. And then I feel bored and a coward, which leads me to being more sad. So happiness can also lead to adventure. But then again, sadness brings about it's own sort of adventures, doesn't it?
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