Any fated adventure, on which I sashay into the realm of eclectic thought, is preceded by struggle. 'The committee', as artists have termed, is a crude dichotomous key built on 'society' and rules. The resolute messages of society impregnate my thoughts and constrict them. Illogical wanderings are thus excluded from the inner box paradigm. Inside the box are prohibitions and social incentives: structure is good and silly is bad. Manipulative ideas scheme to lower my esteem for pondering, and they must be ignored elliptically, as if the society never existed to call my ideas blasphemous.
Additionally, I wonder whether my imprisoned personality is not an oil painter's "artist block". They are only dissimilar in two ways: their advantageous abilities, and my witless pacifism. An artist is truly skilled at communicating his creativity, where as my curiosities appear ineffable. The artist, also, feels intense emotion, born from a deep connection to expression. He persecutes himself in the occurrence that his mind freezes and the committee blows cold air on him, crystallizing his painting before it hits the canvas. However, these two fragments of life must have some relation. They are mysteriously (given the daunting mystery of cranial workings) connected; like the correlation of similar colors; it is recognizable to me.
I see my inability to lose myself in the wild of my mind as an evil force that all of us perceive in different ways. Nevertheless, it is essentially the same being of influence. That disappointing ogre prays off the insecurity of all, lowering our self-esteem. Moreover, it takes a brilliant mind to push aside the formulas and processes of thought. That concludes why my every tampering abates for a battle of mind over mind.
However, this is, partially, an epidemic of systems, one fed to create another. Schooling begins with a concept called basics. Not defined as aid in basic thought; they find it more lucrative to teach younglings first to learn to think like others. I remember when I was learning about weights. I observed the teeter-totter method of balancing a scale. This was intuitive since it was a lesson I had previously learned: the concept that things are evaluated by comparing them to known and understood objects.
Maybe this was the first committee member. He was my guide for the rest of school and life. When I am confused, do I not ask him to explain an answer? "What is this thing?" I'll ask. "Well, I don't know, really, there's no way to know, but it is definitely not for you." These violently injected constrictions automatically control life.
As far as you stretch, there is always a rule to which you are conforming. And so, it is impossible to be completely original. If originality is generated, it is by a system for the process. Perhaps, then, discovering the means of freeing my mind is my ultimate goal, similar to what Buddhists would call enlightenment.
I crave this paradox: a system to think without system. Creativity seems unachievable because of a perceived paradoxical nature. It is a rabbit hole of the mind that can never be concurred.
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I was having trouble with writing a narrative, it was inspiration for another kind of story.
Is it unacceptable?
Additionally, I wonder whether my imprisoned personality is not an oil painter's "artist block". They are only dissimilar in two ways: their advantageous abilities, and my witless pacifism. An artist is truly skilled at communicating his creativity, where as my curiosities appear ineffable. The artist, also, feels intense emotion, born from a deep connection to expression. He persecutes himself in the occurrence that his mind freezes and the committee blows cold air on him, crystallizing his painting before it hits the canvas. However, these two fragments of life must have some relation. They are mysteriously (given the daunting mystery of cranial workings) connected; like the correlation of similar colors; it is recognizable to me.
I see my inability to lose myself in the wild of my mind as an evil force that all of us perceive in different ways. Nevertheless, it is essentially the same being of influence. That disappointing ogre prays off the insecurity of all, lowering our self-esteem. Moreover, it takes a brilliant mind to push aside the formulas and processes of thought. That concludes why my every tampering abates for a battle of mind over mind.
However, this is, partially, an epidemic of systems, one fed to create another. Schooling begins with a concept called basics. Not defined as aid in basic thought; they find it more lucrative to teach younglings first to learn to think like others. I remember when I was learning about weights. I observed the teeter-totter method of balancing a scale. This was intuitive since it was a lesson I had previously learned: the concept that things are evaluated by comparing them to known and understood objects.
Maybe this was the first committee member. He was my guide for the rest of school and life. When I am confused, do I not ask him to explain an answer? "What is this thing?" I'll ask. "Well, I don't know, really, there's no way to know, but it is definitely not for you." These violently injected constrictions automatically control life.
As far as you stretch, there is always a rule to which you are conforming. And so, it is impossible to be completely original. If originality is generated, it is by a system for the process. Perhaps, then, discovering the means of freeing my mind is my ultimate goal, similar to what Buddhists would call enlightenment.
I crave this paradox: a system to think without system. Creativity seems unachievable because of a perceived paradoxical nature. It is a rabbit hole of the mind that can never be concurred.
-----------------------
I was having trouble with writing a narrative, it was inspiration for another kind of story.
Is it unacceptable?
