It is known as the city of dreams. Now that's where the confusion begins since not many have dreams of their own. Groomed since childhood to like what is defined likable, dreams are merely an outcome of a system that trains the psychology of every newcomer in this planet of abundance, in the unknown galaxy. It is all the more funny /sad because the city does not have a personality of its own, except that it has the vacuum large enough to accommodate many personalities. So in a way we come to a man to help us who doesn't exist in the first place. Isn't this what schizophrenics fancy?
I have come across minds of yet to be called as grown ups up close in this city. Contrary to the culture which I am supposed to proclaim as my own, where you are born grown up with sensibilities to win Nobel or comment on anything under the sun, which you have slightest idea about, with complete authority, this place is a shocking illusion. Here you build structures to sell. You write stories which need not be worth telling but worth being paid for. No one cares about meaning or the truth as long as it can prepare you to be fashionable, or acceptable. It is supremely silly because you want to outrun the very people who should accept you. And if they don't accept you, you want to outrun them more. Celebrations don't follow any achievement, in fact, celebrations happen to achieve. We want to be heroes and champions and that is not all about it. We want to be champions among the ones who should be eventually declared not worth competing with. After all, respect for adversary costs character.
Vanity is slowly being termed as an embellishment, or may be I am still stuck and it has already been declared a trophy. And we want to spend our loved ones to achieve the love of the very who put you below their vanity. You will not find outrage here about anything since we are far ahead of petty issues that are termed meaningful in the school of thought that does-not know profit.
Suffer silently and then you know the best way to abhor.
I have come across minds of yet to be called as grown ups up close in this city. Contrary to the culture which I am supposed to proclaim as my own, where you are born grown up with sensibilities to win Nobel or comment on anything under the sun, which you have slightest idea about, with complete authority, this place is a shocking illusion. Here you build structures to sell. You write stories which need not be worth telling but worth being paid for. No one cares about meaning or the truth as long as it can prepare you to be fashionable, or acceptable. It is supremely silly because you want to outrun the very people who should accept you. And if they don't accept you, you want to outrun them more. Celebrations don't follow any achievement, in fact, celebrations happen to achieve. We want to be heroes and champions and that is not all about it. We want to be champions among the ones who should be eventually declared not worth competing with. After all, respect for adversary costs character.
Vanity is slowly being termed as an embellishment, or may be I am still stuck and it has already been declared a trophy. And we want to spend our loved ones to achieve the love of the very who put you below their vanity. You will not find outrage here about anything since we are far ahead of petty issues that are termed meaningful in the school of thought that does-not know profit.
Suffer silently and then you know the best way to abhor.
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