Why is it that when we look at a plate of food we first think calories before we think flavor? Why is it when we think life we think about money and all other material things we could possibly collect before we think of places we could visit, cultures to explore, connections to create? How is it living if all we would like to do is hold on to everything we possibly can without letting go of that which we cant collect? Why is love all about sex? Why can't Living mean more than a state of existence described by people who have decided to profit on other people's unhappiness? People who have installed in our minds that beauty is when you can count your ribs as you stand in the mirror and see your spine tracing on your chest? People who have said loving hard and true is for losers and sex is the highest currency? Drugs make a name and relevance start with a mass murder? That life in itself has become such a pessimistic endeavor and profits are in war?
I'm tired of being asked if everyone I am friends with is a lover. I hate being put in the same bracket as everyone else living a life of confused purpose accompanied a lack of values. I wouldn't want to be bracketed into a life of Quiet-dinners, sunset selfies, technological-brains, unreal-friendships and non-existent intimacy.
Its taken me two days to brawl with friends over my dislike for text messaging and chatting. And in both cases, my frustration spewed over into a vent which ordinarily was misunderstood and I was accused of being stuck up and boring. I apparently have a stick up my ass of late. I must be losing my head maybe because the Joan that used to sit quietly amidst the agony of boring conversation and hours of meaningless chats in order to make a person happy, the Joan that was born to be an angel, to make everyone but herself happy.
You know that Joan? Well she's dead.
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