“Why else would the Cat Lady amuse herself with a storm of cats? Why else, if not to cover up her loneliness with cats? Obsession is that which one cannot move past from, for depression digs one into a hole, into the ground where one no longer walks, though is a particle of the past. The earth, meant to be walked upon, meant as a place to ‘move forward’ in one’s life. Though, if obsession is the depressed person’s motive, it is their fear to the future that keeps them concealed, just as a corpse is, covered by dirt.”– Modern Romanticism
“The greatest weakness of all is for one to believe they lack it.”– Modern Romanticism
In a realm of situations, there are specifics. In one pointed out situation, there’d be a person who could say, “It is subjective for what one thinks.” Though, that situation was merely broken down from all others, alike it. To the specific situation of prejudice, it is like all others. For there is a universal trait that we do not normally consider. We’d not consider it, since it would expose human flaw.
It is fear that we do not consider.
Fear is universal in each situation of prejudice. Among all those situations, that unifying factor could indeed be the key to unity. Among all human weakness, people are joined together to heal.
Fear is a weakness, there for either the soothing of it, or the exploitation of it. Since the latter option is always available, no human openly admits to what they fear, on normal circumstances. In fact, who would admit their fears to a stranger? Who would, besides those who are never heeding caution upon that stranger, that such an unknown person might exploit it? For it is that humans always come upon strangers, and it is that a stranger becomes a friend when they are trusted.
Trusted for fears? That requires closeness. To be close, would mean to mend such weakness, that through togetherness, two people fear nothing. For they are no longer alone, when holding hands of differently-colored lights.
Beauty is that which always is weak. We are weak, when beautiful. As it is, “beauty” should only be defined as what makes us lost in ourselves, at first unable to trust anyone with our history. We hold beauties within ourselves, about ourselves, saved for the acceptance by another. We do not loosely toss truths about, anymore than we should nonchalantly tell a mother her child has died. Humans hoards their truths, being same as all things beautiful, saved for a person who could accept it, and continually compliment them. A man can call a woman “beautiful”, as she’d never thought of herself in such a manner. Then, that man is trusted by her, if his words were sincere. As it is, all things so beautiful come together, are unified. Though, weakness still remains, since further insecurities will lead to needing further reassurance.
Who can one trust, without looking into the eyes, without being close? And, if one is betrayed, one still learns. One has learned what shouldn’t be, versus what should. One has learned the falsehoods from the truths.
Again, could fear be our admitted element, out of us, to the open where in each of these situations of prejudice, we are unified? We can know such truths, to not be distant out of ignorance and fear. We can see past the surface, past the skin, past the eyes, to the mind and heart of an individual.
We need not be so ripped apart, as a wound is when the flesh has come undone. For we can also penetrate flesh with empathy. We can make a person weep, without stabbing them. We can hold what is trusted, in our arms, without betraying them. For if we did stab them in the back, they’d be ripped free from us, once again. Is that the “freedom” people wish for?
Love is the mighty forgiveness, of this world. It forgives histories, grievances, among all flaws a person had placed entirely too much focus upon. After death, forgiveness is the power that forgets negatives, as it remembers the positives that had made a person live.
Though, if fear could be the singular flaw, that instead of stabbing a person, could be admitted, then the other side could, too.
We can admit to being so afraid, that we all clash together, not as fire, though as water, as tears. We could break as the waves, against the rocks that be the earth at our feet. Why don’t we?
No situation of prejudice is so different, that this universal aspect of fear cannot be the key to surrendering ourselves to who is meant to be loved.
“An artist should accept failure, not make explanations which would translate to excuses. Even an ordinary person, who has failed in their attempt to make something better of themselves, inevitably accepts the failure. Whether to ‘make better’ as a person, or for an artist to better their own skills, there must be acceptance for failure, until success is achieved.”– Modern Romanticism
“Meaning. As a word, it should explain itself.”– Modern Romanticism
Art has meaning. It has meaning within meaning. It has layers of its own meaning. Each layer descends atop the previous one, just as clothing for a woman might be removed to reveal the beautiful and vulnerable sculpture beneath.
Peel back the layers, and one sees truth. Yet, it should be done, immediately. Why must an artist need to explain meaning? Upon when a viewer becomes confused to the “message” behind a work, why should someone else, even the artist, explain it, to remedy the confusion? If such becomes the case, then the artist has failed is their attempt to make meaning universal. They’ve become among the arrogant of this world, believing their meaning to be “specific” to them, rather than creating art that can connect. For it is only the narcissist who sees their reflection in its specific shape, not ever daring to see another’s.
Art is never narcissistic, never egotistical, never selective upon who is considered to matter, when it connects through what has depth. Of depth, there is meaning. Among everything meaningful, we are each meant to see ourselves, as humans, as all vulnerable, as all bared to the reflection that might be the painted canvas, before us.
Though, if the artist too much sought to make specifics, and did not implement enough meaning so universal, they will indeed attempt to explain their work. Though, such an explanation will only arrive upon a viewer’s noticeable confusion, to the art.
It can only be that this confusion results, or originates, from the innate function of a human brain that is actually questioning the art for why it is not universal. For it must be that, in their confusion, to see the art as not being “universal”, is the same to say the work is not human. As in, to connect, for connection could only ever be artistic and universal.
Why else would a viewer to art question it, if the very act of being confused is not for segregation’s sake? One can easily imagine the artist pulling the confused viewer to a quiet room, to privately explain the work, in greater detail. Though, why couldn’t the art, itself, do the explaining?
To imagine if a Comedian told a terrible joke, to the reacted confusion of their viewers for what was said, might result in further explanation for clarity’s sake. By then, the humor has dried up, and the Comedian has met failure.
“Connection” would be the implement of a Comedian to make their entire audience laugh. If there are those who did not find the Comedian’s jokes to be humorous, to then begin scorning them, it could only be that such listeners are searching for specifics by way of humor. The “specifics” aspect of this, is all to know the difference between a representation of something certain, to a representation of something universal.
“To the introduction of fairness, comes as the introduction of unfairness when it is brought forth to be compassion. Equality is not compassionate.”– Modern Romanticism
Equality is not compassionate.
Could one “introduce” fairness into a working environment, full of people believed to be treated with unfairness? That is the same as offering special treatment. That is unequal, to the rest.
It is the same as a nurse falling in love with a cancer patient, and soon offering more attention to who they love, over the rest. This makes the only “equality” within the workforce, to represent something of mechanical function. Outside of the workforce, in specifics, a person is understood by one’s family to not be a tool. Within the workforce, there is no more than tools.
One cannot introduce fairness for all workers, without also introducing special treatment. For the introduction of special treatment, is the introduction of unfairness and inequality.
There is only one “equality” or “fairness” in the working environment, and that is the objectification of each man and woman. There is no room for compassion, unless special treatment and attention is in order.
It is true that “special treatment” will be designated, targeted, and specific upon a person taken from among the rest. There is a prejudice to that. Why should that person who has targeted an individual, treat them as an example that the rest would follow suit? Even among a hierarchy, all are at the same level, as tools, as instruments of construction, even when an inch taller on a scale.
Equality is not compassionate, for it always turns into a thing of selection.
Equality and fairness, when perceived by a human to reference these specifics, becomes the human’s way to hijack Nature. We then perform our own way on natural selection to allow only certain specifics to ascend.
Mixing compassion with function always has the former win over the latter. For this is because humanity holds a greater power, seen by the common human as what should always overlap inhuman behavior. And, it always does.
As humans, we are not tools. As humans, we are loved. Though, compassion has no place among a tool, when meant to be one.
The constant feud between tools, or people wishing to be viewed as humans, becomes a series of infighting in one’s own country. A “subtle civil war”, so to speak, as each person fights for their “rights”, among the desire to remain standing. All this introduces is constant paranoia, among a perpetual cautiousness on who to trust.
Could compassion ever be involved in the workforce? It should not. One could say the words, “Humans are not tools.” Though, were they to throw the word “humans” out of that statement, there’d be no meaning left.
For “meaning” holds meaning on something a person finds precious enough to protect. A right to be. A right to be human. Though, to be a tool, and then wish to be human, is all the inequality a person should understand is, in the workforce.
There are only two equalities, in this world:
The first is to be dead.
The second is the toiling labor of a worker, who burns with the motivation to return to their home. At home, they are, at last, a human.
“The importance of diversity is in its expression, of language. Yet, can art be forced, without the burnout of the soul? Must extreme measures be taken for the person of their language to force truth forward? Forcing diversity seems to be what makes the torturous interrogator.”– Modern Romanticism
Forcing truth, to the surface of one’s own esophagus, is to eject diversity without its naturalism.
We are not intimate with ourselves, with what we express, with what we feel, when another means to place us “on the spot”. For those who force diversity are also people who mean to humiliate. They are the psychopaths, the extractors, and those who wish for truth to be regurgitated.
Examples of truth, of all diversity, is to the ideas of it, spoken next for speech’s sake, then made tangible and physical.
We love truth, for we trust it. We cannot love God, for we cannot care for Him. Yet, we can love God’s words, as we are silent in our attentiveness. Though, to Creation so natural as a spawned life from a womb, we cannot force without resorting to a philosophy that pertains to the inhuman. Whether inhuman or psychopathic, the “interrogator mentality” is the abomination meant to be purged without diversity for what kills.
It takes no special instrument to slay, though to extract truth? That requires genius.
Yet, it requires an equal amount of genius, not of the evil and malicious intent, to create truth. It is of example, of Creation, that truth is made. For we do not force it, when it is made, anymore than a mother must force her child out of her, during labor. Anymore than a husband rapes his wife, out of force, to impregnate her, would make the diversity; because, it will not.
Diversity is always a creation, born as an example unto it. Artists do not force it out, anymore than creativity can be turned on like a faucet.
“Life cannot be born, without a beginning to pain, for no woman could end it without first a care for her own.”– Modern Romanticism
Why has there been a change, to now say, “Women and men”, in that order?
It is no by means a sexist remark to believe it should be the opposite. Because, to believe the order, being “Men and women” is sexist, goes against logic. In the order, “Women and men” is to say “Omega to Alpha”, or “Ending to beginning”. We can then ask, “Does life begin, or is life meant to end?” Are we just Nihilists to the meaninglessness of life, and that all meaning becomes joined, upon an ending, upon a birth to a dystopia?
Upon disorder, rather than order, we would say, “Ending to beginning”. That’s the “Omega to Alpha”, in the representation of a purge, to the beginning of something else. An ending to something, to the forced beginning of another, without Natural Law.
We would realize, guided from “Ending to beginning” that such beginnings to this world are unclear, as they no longer give us hope. To the “ending” part, there is understood from this an extinguishing of what was always clear, though is now killed.
The most natural thing about life, is that it has a beginning through a seed. Men plant that seed in the womb, thus is the reason for why God was made a Father. A woman cannot become a Mother, without that seed. We can behold before ourselves, the onset to “Progressivism”, by which all things natural are led through progress inevitably towards the unnatural. For how else would life become so unnatural, if we no longer followed things by the “Natural Order” of beginning to ending?
Beginning to ending is the “Natural Order”, though all things so natural become artificial when they are questioned enough to be dissected. Dissected, or rather, destroyed, for that is how order breaks. We dissect, or break, the objective “meaning” of life, down to where it holds none. We are left to then say, “Women and men” or “Ending and beginning”. It is because what is killed, or what has “fallen”, has now become the latter. It has become the representation of what has literally ended, to now the literal beginning of something still so unclear.
Pain is the testimony to a beginning. Labor, which is what a woman runs through, upon childbirth, reflects the work needed to enter pain, to then end it. A woman begins nothing of life, for even if she never engaged in sexual intercourse to become impregnated, she still needed a seed. Even if science took over that natural process, the woman still needed a seed to enter herself.
If pain is what begins life, or creates all beginnings, then it is to its ending where we comprehend that such is the only thing ever meant to end. Yet, it ends, naturally, by the death of it. Is life none so tolerable, that we must numb ourselves to reality? We are then a living corpse.
To say it in the order, “Men and women” merely represents “Beginning to ending”. That is how life naturally progresses in development, within the womb. It ends its development, to begin another one, in active life. The purest creation, being life, requires a seed for its beginning. We say a woman can start a business, rent an apartment for her residence, be a single mother to provide for her children, all on her own. Though, nothing of this can be seen, as no sons nor daughters can be birthed, without the man’s seed, without his beginning.
It is again that we say that God is the Father, for He beholds for us the creation around ourselves. All literal beginnings of life, would have to result from a seed. An entrance, to an exit, is the beginning of pain to its ending. The beginning of development, to its ultimate end. To then, the beginning of something else.
“Do we ever forget who we love? Or, do we ever forget who loves us? Are we to reduce ourselves to the selfish fool, who cannot appreciate the selfless gesture of kindness? It is in our pain, that trust has died, not ever love. Love does not become torn apart, for that is not what pains us. Whether distrust, or impossibility for continued life, we are pained by the memory. We are only ever in pain, at the time of the beloved’s departure, because we still love them. Whether that be in death, or in a simple leave, the eternity of love is proven upon a singular realization: that, the rooms are empty, though they never left.”– Modern Romanticism
“Here, the scientist might say to love, among prayer, among God, that such things are impractical. Yet, it cannot be more obvious. Nothing of love, is practical, is utilitarian; so why would a scientist say such words so apparent? Is there ever ‘evidence’ for love, being metaphysical? Does not the scientist work with physical components, able to be dissected? Through dissection, a body is. Love cannot be dissected, for it is not physical. Not with use, so love cannot ever die. Eternal as it is, love cannot be killed. To the Atheist who says the words ‘God is dead’, most likely believes that memories can also die, at one’s whim.”– Modern Romanticism
“Though, it shouldn’t be, that through our innate comprehension of love, we’d ‘make use’ of that loved one, whether they’d be God, or of family to friendship.”– Modern Romanticism
Do we love God?
Do we love our friends? Our families?
Could we love the source to all love? It is in the understanding of love, that we realize we should not ‘make use’ of all that is loved. Therefore, in prayer, in clasping our hands, we should not think that anything practical might be of its result. For that is against love.
Are we saying we should “use” love? Does love have a use, to say that who we place love upon is seen as using oil to fix the squeaking sounds of a door? Again, it is against love to say it holds utility.
Against love, we manipulate, through practicality. Against love, we deceive, through practicality. Against love, we consume, through practicality.
Love is all-knowing, all-seeing, all comprehending; and we may be the same, yet our human hunger stays us.
We want, we crave, we are lustful, so we pray to believe it will ‘do’.
It is an error to fall so easily into human greed, lust, and gluttony that we forget what love is about. It is about the simple understanding, among nothing more. For do we not, as we have a photograph of a deceased loved one upon a shelf, just stare upon it whenever we find it necessary? That photograph collects dust, when it is not touched. It is that we have no desire to “use” it, because it merely represents a memory of the past. A dead past. As it is, this is the objective definition to what is immoral of “using” that which is dead. We do not comprehend who we love, when we negate it by turning to such practicality.
Death is stillness, not the movement in the ravenous behavior that accompanies desire. Therefore, by our understanding of such stillness, it is love that is just as powerful as death.
All stillness, is not of use. And, are we not stilled, also silent, when deep in prayer? Yet, our craving human minds are wishing for the practicality from God. Why is that? Why is it that we have rejected, for so long, the mere notion that prayer is not compatible with practicality and utility?
Are we here to simply say we should manipulate, deceive, and enslave who we love? For is this not the reason we are to “submit” before God, before whoever we love? To never say we have control? Even an Atheist would agree with these words, if they are not the sort to believe it perfectly fine to manipulate who they love.
We are here to believe in love, to guide us upwards. An “ascension” merely equals “improvement”, among nothing more. We are led to Heaven, away from the wind. For the wind represents the forward motions of life. In the embrace of love, we are uplifted, escalated, and risen. The forward notion of life, represent the individual voices. Love leads, though leads up the mountain slope, up the stairs towards Heaven. Life leads itself in unpredictable, randomized directions. We have no control, so long as there is love.
The vain desire for a human to want control, to want a choice, epitomizes deception. Against love, there is choice. Against love, there is control. In our world, for whatever time period one points to, is always the area of idealistic implementation. Of selflessness, through invention, as the gift, humans follow.
“To the woman, whose graceful shape is often seen by the man as perpetually imperfect, is merely the onset to wasted time. When he hurls criticism, though never corrects, it is that he stares to her external mask. Nothing is corrected, for that mask is the attempt by her for correction’s sake. He’ll not ever look upon the woman, herself, when sending gazes just to the exterior. Could a woman feel penetrated, by his stare? If so, then through his loving eyes, she is beautiful by the woman of her, not by the form of her.”– Modern Romanticism
“No human could immediately correct themselves, without needing convenience. Whereas, no human could form wisdom, without an extended time in suffering.”– Modern Romanticism
To think science would be needed, if there was a way for all humans to “grow up”, is the definition of ignorance. All humans, when errored or imperfect, displaying such in their actions, when observed by scientific eyes are granted as an idea for a correction. A correction. For to correct the error of a human, is progress. Is it “progress” to say that a human has been corrected of their error, through immediate convenience. We can also say that the human form, full of errors, is the definition to things so instantaneous, like lust, exiting as quick as it entered. As it is, all human bodies enter and leave this world like the flicker of lightning. To differ the body from the mind is to differ a “temporary” aspect from an “infinite” aspect.
We could not be errored beings, without our bodies. Not at all could we be understanding of our imperfections, of our flaws, without in the knowledge that such is seen in the mirror. Of our flesh, of what has been sculpted, perhaps to the detail of an amateurish artist. We can protect, out of love, though against what if we never interact, if we live alone?
Human interaction is the necessity to which a person finds error. Through observation, we see error, we criticize it, and then find a need to correct. Though, on the side of progress, wisdom is never for its sake. As in, wisdom does not heed progress’s wish. That is, for progress seeks correction of every imperfection, instantly. It is to the same example of a wound, needing its bleeding to quit. For when the act of pressure to the wound was performed, it was immediate in its desire, as quickly as the wound was observed to be severe.
Wisdom would tell a person to find a dutifulness in responsibility. Wisdom would tell a person to not commit the same fault, twice. Wisdom would tell a person that error is inevitable, and thus, should not be believed it can be extinguished, in absolution. It would be the case, upon two occasions: love or death, making either the time when we stop seeing errors, and consent to the outcome.
It is then that wisdom makes the human not needing progress, not needing science. For if all humans were wise, heeded the need to be responsible, no immediacy of science’s offered conveniences would be necessary. It is rather a petty revelation, to which science only exists to offer convenience, at the absence of wisdom, and the continued existence of human error. For the more errors that scientific eyes can notice, the more there is to correct. It would indeed take more time, to form wisdom. Though, to what science offers, makes time our greatest impatience, and the immediate moment making our greatest desire for a cure.