“Stability is the worst form of instability. Instability is the greatest form of stability.”– Modern Romanticism
“Anger comes from individual to society, not due to there being something wrong with the latter, through due to a certain factor of loneliness through which the former feels. Loneliness is the trigger, the fuel, to rage. When people are told to be victimized in their strain, as the only sorts to be suffering, it is never themselves they look upon, anymore. That is loneliness. Loneliness is to burn down the world, so that one’s own bubble can have more room.”– Modern Romanticism
“Turn to that person who is undergoing sobbing, to the person who holds the noose about their neck. You are their strength, their pillar to lean on, as it cannot be them. In your mind, it should not be the case that they’d suffer, alone.”– Modern Romanticism
There is no beauty in development. Of people’s tears, to say that it requires strength to weep, are words from those who share the same weakness. It is the weakness of neglect.
Those who weep, feel weak. Those who encourage another to cry, may as well be those who engaged the pain. How is it to the blindness of a person, who encourages another to weep, in pertaining their push to that, as strength or a show of it? It is not. Those who weep, always cry, feel weak, for that is what we must perceive of them.
It heads to the next level. We say that a person who attempts suicide, was brave. How much can we save, versus how much we can encourage? Again, those who believe suicide attempts were acts of bravery, may as well be direct encouragements for one to end their own life.
How many save lives, within their own vocation? Their profession works in the manner of nobility. Even more, how many have the heart to do it, independently of material gain? How many seek to repair, rather than to encourage another to crumble? How many step forward to become the friend of a person, instead of saying they must weep without one? Is it to a person’s depression that makes them suffer, or is it in what they lack or what was lost?
Does a person who is awarded a medal to their nobility, for their courage in saving another’s life, pertain as well to a person who ended their own life that no one saved?
Love sees no history that isn’t worth forgiving, to say that it has been forgotten, in the perception that a future can be better off without burden.
“Science is not the encouragement of wisdom, in terms of teaching all to learn from their mistakes. Rather, science teaches us to learn from someone else’s mistakes, to gain benefits from someone else’s misfortune.”– Modern Romanticism
“Think on it. Where is the patience, in convenience? Where does a person find money, when it comes to creating something? Ah, but causation? To cause the swarm of chaos? That’s profitable. People’s emotions are profitable, when easily manipulated. The more you can break down, the more you can plunder from the wreckage.
Justice is the creation of it. Revenge is the causation of someone’s life, shown as shared torment. A deal, of supposed ‘fairness’. An exchange of malice, made to be distinct from the slightest flaw. Perfection must be the dealer’s absolution. No flaws are allowed.
Betrayal is always the instinct of revenge, so there is no Justice, among business, among politics.”– Modern Romanticism
“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.
“Science has no purpose, other than the benefit for the flawed form. Yet, to make the form perfect, is to also make the mind imperfect. We are insane, when we realize not our own limitations.”– Modern Romanticism
Mind and body, where the former is perfect, as the latter is not. No science comprehends the mind, in totality. As it is, all science questions existence, especially of God, because it is limited to what it can see. For what it can see, it is what science can work with, can alter into a different shape.
We are, with an obsession upon diversity, absent of our understanding of limitation. To all human imagination, it is casted solely upon the form. The human form, so limited, so flawed, only because it is visible. Perfection is invisible to human eyes. Therefore, no science will ever comprehend the mind, in totality.
The human mind, perfect, while the human form is imperfect. It is then that science thinks to make the form perfect, though is always at the cost of sanity.
What is sane, in this world, is the mind. Though, our sanity is lost, upon witnessing the alteration of what is visible. We are never altered upon viewing an alteration of perfection. Among all things perfect, it is never changed, first. Human forms change, first, resulting in the alteration of perfection in the mind. This is to say that sanity equates to perfection. It is to say that the “Creator”, of God, must be a being to relate to a “beginning”.
We are sane, we are perfect. Yet, upon the continual need to alter the form, force diversity, is to shove the needed realization of our limitations. For in one way or another, we will realize them.
Human minds possess imagination, though only for what is imperfect. We imagine the imperfect, the flawed, to become the perfect, the flawless. Again, upon the perfection of imperfection, we become insane.
This is all why love is said to be a madness. That, to become perfected, accepted, mended of wounds to the touch of that love, we become maddened.
Fall Through broken arms Reaching the blood My eyes had carried. In your hair, The strands weave me to your fortune, As I surprise myself To the emptiness of all. Your face, A stream of petals. My arms Drop the leaves, shed from distance. Are you the spring to take me Apart from what I part with In this season of reason? Your gulls upon your shore Shall know what I adore Being all I allow to drift, far from me. I don't see the music, For I hear the writings Of notes, scribbles, and blame That drains me, My ocean, torn wide in my heart. You flood the sea with seeds, Excepting something to grow From a despairing loss Of something I named to be a contrast From you, in your wellness. Play with the Earth, Young one. Oldness is to far upstream, Drifting from the everything.