A revolutionary is someone who religiously believes in non-existence of barriers. And I’m all but someone who is blind to the walls for all I do is paints dreams over the them, turning them into my canvas for imagination.
Maybe I’m broken part of the revolution generation, maybe I’m the idea of what a flightless bird looks like for I sure would not fly even with the cage down. A revolutionary I shall never be, but I do know how to feel like one with my eyes closed. I can paint myself into anything I want, a flygirl, a pirate, a war hero and even a renegade, an insurgent.
So let the mind weep for the deadness of the brave rebellious soul; the heart shall live in stories, the fabrication of beautiful lies, that brings a whole new world alive creating a sky and land that needs no more anarchy.
It has been a long time since I had a general post about life and things inside my head; so much has happened and yet I’m still where I was with my last conversation here.
You know how people say things like ‘I’m dead’ generally and casually in a conversation, I have started to see it as gibberish. It makes no sense. People don’t die, they vanish. You know what dies, a radio or a car engine or a mobile battery; things die and then they stay there on the table or the bed or inside the pocket of a forgotten bag. A radio dies and becomes a rusty box but it stays there. People don’t stay, they vanish. People cant die, they vanish and cant be found again even if they are rusty or useless.
I’m not being melancholic, dark sure, but I’m just stating the facts of what I felt after my father’s death. I don’t think I’m a writer enough to describe it, so let’s move on.
Well, when I said a lot has happened but I’m still here I was talking about my ‘Im going to get my book published’, yeah hasn’t happened yet and I don’t think its on the cards.
Today is day 2 of NaNoWriMo and here I’m a hopeless owner of random words, stories, ideas and characters but no courage. For someone who likes to pretend to have a superhero alter ego, I sure am quite a chicken.
Maybe, I should just do it. Write whatever, it’s not like that it will get published and judged.
Yesterday, I was suffering from Mean Reds like the ones Holly Golightly talks about in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I had a dream and even in my dream I chose to be the righteous one and letting go of something because the words were there, the thought ‘What would the world say’. It is absolutely stupid to not live life even in a dream, the San Junipero made of tissues, cells, nerves and some other weird human anatomy stuff.
I woke up blue and red; spent all my day thinking how another day has come and gone by with nothing happening. Something has to happen right, some stars have to collide to divert me from this path, I’m dragging my feet on.
Anyhow, I think I’m going to write. Its not like I want to be Rowling or Woolf, but maybe I could be Paul Varjak with one book and no fame. That would be fun too.
I have started catching up on Audrey Hepburn movies. I certainly believe I’m in the wrong era.
Alright, I’m going to do it. I’m going to send my book to another publishing agent and I’m going to do NaNoWriMo 2017.
Here is a song from Rooney Mara’s latest A Ghost Story. She is an underrated actress with so much to give. She is exceptionally talented and I’m a fan.