I like to love. When we love, that cache of hope and passion and joy that we each possess but hide from the world and his too rough hands, comes flowing out in a transmuted, syrupy form. The person we love sees this best part of us - what we wish to be, what we would be if it were a perfect world.
But the world is not perfect. It is sometimes ugly, and when we see this ugliness we can't help but to spit it back. This ugliness consumes and murders us, and once we are reborn in the grotesque form, we infect others with that which killed us before. Wide-spread epidemics and viruses are naught but the physical manifestation of the larger and more calamitous diseases of the soul. This death, this spit, this destruction is a incendiary machine, it is the dark phoenix of our world.
We are all suffering and frustrated. Sometimes we turn inwards, unto self-loathing; sometimes outward, into violence. Some of us become delusional or insane, retreating to more bearable world inside our minds. Some of us scuttle and haggle for power and wealth, perhaps believing that this will eventually grant sanctuary from the world malady.
I've done all of this, in one form or another. But each of these outlets has drawn me in too deep. Each of these drugs has made me nearly forget that I ever possessed that cache of passion and hope and joy. I cried today because I remembered.
We should choose to love, to mold with another person a better existence for them both, a sub-world filled with only the goodness of them both. Love is but the release of the beauty remnants we all have within. This is why hateful people love hatefully; why beautiful people love beautifully; why love is as good as the lover.
We should choose to create, to manifest our passion and joy and hope with melody, color, form, and words.
I want to change the world, to continue to reach out to that beautiful, but fading vision.
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