and my name was brain

I am evolving, catching up to these times. There once was a girl who wore her hair pinned up with a pencil, carried a manuscript with her wherever she went. People always knew when she was coming because sounds of furious scribbling, ink scratching and flipping papers, followed her wherever she went.

Is it harder to be humane in these days? Huntington may have had it right, underneath these clothes of civilization, we are all the same underneath, naked man stripped bare of taxes, education, cutlery, perfumes, fraud, social politics, we are all the same. But the fact remains, we do live in these times of taxes, education, cutlery, perfumes, fraud and social politics. So what do we make of our lives? I may give away spare change and cry at the sight of homeless children, I may disagree that morality is an invention of the weak to intimidate the strong, that power is the greatest goodness… but perhaps I am an elitist at heart. I have no patience for people who don’t speak, who don’t want, who don’t try.

What we dislike most in life is what we are.

What we do measure our achievements against? People out there still paint with their 2B pencils, color with rainbow watercolor brush, and scratch with their own bare fingers. They still can get the same effect as photoshop. The artist has been replaced by technology. Where have we all disappeared? Where are all the Jazz improvisations, the eccentrics, the political manifestos, the philosophers, and free writers? design is art, but art is not design.
You write offbeat poetry, silly rhyming lyrics, detailed prose, then you read Shakespeare, Nin, Kahlil Gibran. You’re nothing.

I must evolve.