Why do people succumb to anger?
It feels so easy to slip into its grasp. But at the same time, from a distance, it looks quite stupid. Aren't we overreacting? What's the point of hitting one another, yelling at one another, going to war with one another? Yet when are up close, immersed in anger, we feel nothing but blissful rage, if that makes sense. Sweet revenge empowers us. Makes us feel as if we are at the top of the world. Maybe it is a survival mechanism. But I sure wish it weren't.
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Who am I today, who will I be tomorrow?
For writing for pub, I am doing a photo essay on the following post.
A Question of Identity
There came a point in my life where I felt I needed to be rediscovered. Like I didn't know myself at all to begin with.
So now and then, I make my way to McClellan Ranch park, and settle down at my favorite part of the creek. I sit on a rusty drainage pipe, arms hugging my knees. I stare into the rushing water and try to find an answer.
I explore the depths of my mind, but only hear water slipping into nothingness. I implore myself. Who am I? Who am I?
The truth is, I have no clue.
When I sit down to write about myself, I find myself with an empty paper. What do I put on it?
I would put this.
I am a wanderer at sea. I look left, and right. I have no idea where to go. But my subconscious convinces me: I will get to where I want to. Somehow. Sometime.
I have no idea if that answers the prompt. Big B said we could base it off of experience or go philosophical. Philosophy is interesting thing. And so is experience... I guess I mixed both.. (:
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Who am I today, who will I be tomorrow?
For writing for pub, I am doing a photo essay on the following post.
A Question of Identity
There came a point in my life where I felt I needed to be rediscovered. Like I didn't know myself at all to begin with.
So now and then, I make my way to McClellan Ranch park, and settle down at my favorite part of the creek. I sit on a rusty drainage pipe, arms hugging my knees. I stare into the rushing water and try to find an answer.
I explore the depths of my mind, but only hear water slipping into nothingness. I implore myself. Who am I? Who am I?
The truth is, I have no clue.
When I sit down to write about myself, I find myself with an empty paper. What do I put on it?
I would put this.
I am a wanderer at sea. I look left, and right. I have no idea where to go. But my subconscious convinces me: I will get to where I want to. Somehow. Sometime.
I have no idea if that answers the prompt. Big B said we could base it off of experience or go philosophical. Philosophy is interesting thing. And so is experience... I guess I mixed both.. (:
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I feel like the spirit of this thing is sort of dy...
Break down the Wall
I'm sitting outside... There's a nice breeze that ...
Un crayon du bonheur
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